Bostanai
by EnlightenedSkye
Summary: A reboot of the Kir'Shara arc. Sequel to Haven. [RTP and Troshi. Complete. Rated for violence, language, and torture.]
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Here we are, ladies and gentlemen. This is the sequel to my story _Haven_ , so it won't make a lot of sense unless you've read it. That being said, I've been told that it's a fairly quick read. This chapter fiction will rewrite the arc that includes the episodes The Forge, Awakening, and Kir'Shara. For the sake of continuity, we're assuming that the Borderland/Augments arc remains intact. Pairings include RTP and Troshi; at this point, you should expect nothing else from me!

By now you're probably wondering about the title. Many of you know that I'm Orthodox Jewish. One of the fables I heard over and over again as a child was the legend of Bostanai. I suggest that you look into it yourself, because it might shed some light on where it is this story is headed. But if you're feeling exceptionally lazy today-and I don't blame you-fear not, for we'll hear the legend in its entirety in chapter two, as told by Malcolm to Jonathan.

Thanks to my beta BonesBird, who endures a whole lot more than she has to. Without her, it's very doubtful this story would see the light of day.

 **Bostanai**

 **Chapter One**

It was well into the afternoon, and Malcolm Reed hadn't accomplished a single thing all day.

This was unusual for him. Any crewman that worked under him could normally testify to his efficacy and productivity, but right now that was not the case. The truth was that every time he tried to throw himself into virtual trials and upgrades, his subconscious keep needling him trying to tell him that _something_ was wrong.

He ordered several ensigns to check the hatches and securing locks on various pieces of equipment, thinking that he might have seen something ajar when he had walked in at the start of his shift. Those that were left standing around were given a stern reprimand about wasting time, followed by the prompt to begin a running inventory of every piece of ammunition in the armory.

Now he stood in his office, arms crossed at his chest, gazing at the wall of monitors before him. It hardly qualified as an office, as it was—there wasn't a door, and anyone could enter the control center—but it served as his thinkspace, a location where the lieutenant could tinker with his experiments to his heart's content. In the early days of the mission, he had sought refuge here when the social interaction of mingling with the crew became unbearable. Although he relished the opportunity to manage and induce order, the personalities of his employees unfortunately kept getting in the way.

Maybe one of the gamma shift technicians had come in here to change the levels of lighting and had left a terminal unprotected by a password. He jumped at the opportunity to check each one of the main servers, but found no leads to that end.

Exhausted by the frantic state he had worked himself into, Malcolm sunk into his chair. In due time, he found himself scrolling through a list of his personal settings. Things around the armory were just now beginning to calm down after a confrontation near the Klingon Borderland. It wasn't often that their expertise was needed, but when it was, it was all hands on deck.

Perhaps it was just as simple as a task he had added to his mental checklist before going to bed the previous night. His dreams had once been orderly, filled of easily categorized patterns and functions. That had changed a little over a month ago.

His ears and cheeks grew red when he recalled exactly what had distracted him the previous night. Honestly, he had planned on sleeping alone, having worked well into beta shift to clean up the mess that combat had wreaked, but then _she_ had shown up. Her eyes were fire, and each one of her actions had implored him to attend to her. And he couldn't tell her no, because after the past few days, neither of them could stand to be alone for the night.

Yes, married life certainly still held some surprises for Malcolm Reed, and a select few were sure to stick in his memory. Even though there was no one to witness his discomfort, he cleared his throat and brought his nose within inches of the screen. Suddenly, he became _incredibly_ interested in the endless lines of data that swam before his eyes.

Soon, he was scrolling through records of every keystroke that had been taken on the computer in the past week. It was mind-numbing work, but quickly banished the burning sensation in his gut. And, if he had his druthers, he might even be able to track down whatever pesky bit of neurosis that had been plaguing him over the past few hours.

At the end of the third page, something stuck out to him, so blatantly obvious that it might as well have jumped out of the screen.

 _Manual security override approved. 0130 hours, 6 May 2154, accession number…_

His heart leapt to his throat. It could have just been his second checking protocol from his quarters or one of Commander Tucker's system updates for better integration with the engineering department, but his paranoia suggested otherwise.

Following a series of links, he arrived at the last page the user had seen. He felt faint.

Malcolm was up in a moment, dashing out the door without the barest hint of a farewell to his staff. He wasn't exactly sure what the next course of action should be, but something told him that he should find his wife as soon as possible.

A minute later, he's on the bridge. When he looks to his left and sees her station empty, he panics. Luckily, there's a very anxious looking helmsman there to mitigate his concerns.

"Commander T'Pol. Where?" He huffs out breathlessly, knowing that he couldn't form a coherent sentence to save his life.

Crewman Downes cuts a glance to one of Hoshi's communication specialists, who looks pretty damn near to tears. Now that he can afford him another look, he notices that Travis's second is white as a sheet. The entire bridge is quiet, deathly quiet, almost in the way it had been after they'd heard of the Xindi bombing of Florida.

He didn't have time to think about it.

"She went to find the Captain. Said he was in cargo bay two with a lot of the senior staff. But you should know that—"

Malcolm was out the door before he could finish the sentence.

Once on the appropriate deck, his pace increased. The heavy pounding of his steps on the deck mimicked the frenzied pounding of his heart. Finally, Malcolm caught a glimpse of a ruddy colored catsuit disappearing around the corner.

When he reached her, he was taken aback by her devastated expression. Pulling her to the side of the corridor, he said: "Someone's got it."

That was about as cryptic as emergencies got. Freeing herself from his hold on her arm, T'Pol continued her brisk jaunt to the cargo bay. "What do they have?"

His fear was so great in that moment that he couldn't bring himself to verbalize what he knew had happened. If he were to say it, that might somehow make it more real.

In the meantime, his wife reached the doors of the cargo bay and stepped through them. From her body language he could determine that she had intended to speak immediately, however it appeared now that this would be impossible.

Travis stood at the far end of the room, a basketball under one arm. He was engaged in spirited conversation with Captain Archer, who was also dressed in exercise gear. From the looks of it, the two had interrupted the senior staff in the midst of one of their weekly basketball tournaments.

Decompression from stress was an integral part in serving aboard a starship, something he could personally attest to. Phlox and Cutler stood under the makeshift hoop, probably discussing his technique. The good doctor had a natural talent for sports, something that stood out against his physical stature.

Hoshi and Trip were near the towel rack, clearly enjoying each other's company. That was something he envied about the couple. Even though they had the Captain's blessing, he couldn't bring himself to show affection to T'Pol in full view of others. Perhaps it was the nature of his childhood, wherein he had been brought up to appreciate the benefits of propriety. Whatever the case may be, the romantic overtures of his two friends were soon to be the least of his concerns.

"I've just spoken with Starfleet Command," she begins without preamble, and all eyes fall on her.

All those years ago, perhaps he had been wrong to refer to _himself_ as the angel of death.

-0-

Soon after their arrival at Vulcan, the conference room hosts a meeting of special significance. There's been a bombing of the United Earth Embassy in Shi'Kahr. While the death toll stands at forty-three and the public outcry for an arrest is considerable, there were no leads at the present.

He crossed paths with the boarding party almost immediately after he'd come aboard. His curiosity nearly got the best of him, but his view was restricted to the backs of three sandy colored robes. Two elderly Vulcan men and one younger accept Captain Archer's greetings and follow him into the turbolift. How he so desperately wanted to be a fly on the wall for this conversation. As security officer, it was his responsibility to protect everyone aboard the ship, including T'Pol. And while this didn't really extend to her entire race, he can't help but ponder what was going on in that room.

Something jogs his memory. There was something _familiar_ about one of the men. The slight variation on the traditional haircut, the shape of his shoulders and the slight way he dragged his feet as he walked…

He's got his feet propped up on his desk when the hail arrives, deep in thought. Instantly, he slides them off the tabletop guiltily and answers the call.

If Archer and T'Pol needed back up, why did they not request Commander Tucker's presence? He was next in command, after all. Perhaps they had, for the gathering was getting quickly out of hand. Whatever the case, he reached the conference room on the double.

The first thing he beheld upon his interest was the Captain, who had adopted his signature defensive stance at the head of the table. Head tilted, arms crossed, he was clearly engrossed in what his guests had to say.

His wife had remained seated, eyes wide, looking for all the world like a cornered animal of prey. As he stepped into the room, his gaze followed hers, and he soon saw what was causing her fear.

"This is our chief security officer, Lieutenant Malcolm Reed," Archer said, temporarily tearing himself away from the conversation. "May I introduce Stel, Chief Investigator of the Vulcan Security Directorate, and Minister Kuvak, who's currently standing in for Ambassador Soval."

He nodded at the two men, but his focus was really drawn to the imposing figure in the center. Jonathan kept talking, pausing briefly to indicate where he expected Malcolm to sit.

"And finally this is Administrator V'Las, head of the High Command," he ground out, his voice strained. It was clear that T'Pol had found some way to inform him of the couple's previous encounter with him.

Malcolm nods towards the older man, while V'Las says dryly, "We've met."

The Brit finds it odd that Soval wasn't in attendance. The casualty reports indicated that Admiral Forrest had taken the brunt of the impact, sacrificing his life for him. Perhaps he was still too injured to attend to official business. It was clear that without this ally, the tension in the room had been elevated exponentially.

"Stel's team has named the Andorians as possible suspects, but after hearing the alternatives, it now appears unlikely that one of their own has committed the crime," the Captain filled him in on what had been said in his absence.

He nodded, knowing full well of the animosity that existed between the Vulcans and the Andorians. However, their motives seemed questionable at best given the fact that humans had long since established themselves as a neutral third party in the century long dispute.

"Our other suspects are Syrrannites," the gentleman named Kuvak explained.

Malcolm, who had already begun to pace the perimeter of the room, stopped in his tracks. Crossing the room in two strides, he opted to sit down before he fell down. Under the table, T'Pol gripped his hand hard.

Feigning ignorance, he replied evenly, "I've never heard of that species."

"I find that hard to believe, considering you've taken one of our women as your wife," Stel fired back, and he winced. "They are not a separate species, but a sect of dissidents that are eager to express their opposition to government. Their leader, Syrran, has seemingly abandoned his vow of pacifism and led his people against their own."

The young man passed a PADD across the table, and Malcolm soon discovered that it was a list of known Syrrannites. All were unfamiliar to him, save for two.

"His second in command, a woman named T'Pau, is of great interest to us. She comes from a respectable family, and would have no trouble blending in among the crowd at the Embassy," V'Las continued, his unblinking gaze fixed on him as he gauged his reaction.

By God, how he wished he didn't recognize that name. But now that he had, there was no denying it. A letter addressed to his mother-in-law from the woman in question was in his quarters now, hidden underneath a pile of necessaries. A twitch of the upper lip was all V'Las needed to confirm his knowledge of her.

"Until shortly before the blast, we had several confessed Syrrannites in custody," Stel reached across the table and pulled up an all too familiar face.

"Lady T'Les and several others escaped their holding cells at the Ministry of Security Headquarters in the aftermath of the explosion," Kuvak concluded.

It seemed as if his breath had caught in his throat. A squeeze of the hand from T'Pol was the only thing to remind Malcolm to inhale. Fighting to keep his voice steady, he asked, "I assure you that neither of us know anything about this."

He would go on to swear to his dying day that Administrator V'Las broke stoicism and smirked at that moment. As if he knew that he would say that, he dropped his final, calculated blow.

"Administrator Havek was also killed in the explosion. It seems that the epicenter of the explosion was situated underneath the table he was assigned to. Am I to understand that this is the father of your former betrothed, T'Pol?"

She set her jaw, her eyes suddenly flashing with devastation. "That is correct."

The trio of Vulcans exchanged pointed glances, standing in unison. V'Las suddenly towered over the couple, taking steps to accentuate the height difference by leaning across the table and stating in no uncertain terms, "If you know anything about the bombings, or had any involvement therein, I suggest that you—"

Archer interrupted him, clearly not willing to entertain any threats against his officers. "Seeing that there is only speculation tying the Syrrannites to the blast, we'd like to conduct our own investigation."

Kuvak nods, conceding his point. "The embassy is on Earth soil. I doubt that will be a problem, Captain."

"Will _he_ be leading the expedition?" Stel asked pointedly, indicating Malcolm.

Jonathan appears doubtful in his decision, but only for a moment. He rises up to eye level with Stel, responding, "Of course he will."

The Vulcans had only been out the door for a few seconds when Malcolm began to express his indignance. "Sir, how could they make such blatant accusations? They outright suggested that I may have something to do with the deaths of forty some odd people! And for what? The life of the man who stood in the way of my marriage? I'm sure that there are countless people that could confirm that I was here and not on the surface at the time of the bombing! Hell, even if I was in league with those people they spoke about, how would I have gotten in contact with them if—"

The target of his outburst grimaced. "Did you know that T'Les was a Syrrannite?"

He wanted to say no and deny having any knowledge of the fact. But it was T'Pol that spoke first. "We did," she confirmed.

He covered his head in his hands, turning to approach the porthole. Just outside the window, Enterprise maintained a steady orbit around the desolate world. Leaning against the sill, he offered an ultimatum. "Lieutenant, take Travis and go to the blast zone. The more we talk about this, the more it looks like we're going to need a miracle."

-0-

The United Earth Embassy had been built in the style of an ancient ziggurat in the shade of many government buildings in the center of Shi'Kahr. As he and Travis made their way through the rubble, he couldn't help but imagine what the structure had looked like before the debacle.

They had just reached the junction between the lobby and interior of the building when their PADDs picked up a weak power signature coming from underneath some beams. Malcolm was too absorbed in his surroundings, selfishly attempting to memorize every detail of what he saw should he need it later. He didn't pay much mind to the wayward Ensign until he heard his rank being called from somewhere down the hall.

He froze when he saw what had diverted Mayweather's attention. Mounted to the side of a panel on the wall was a bomb of very indicative design.

The device had been planned under extenuating circumstances, when it had been a distinct possibility that Enterprise would have to wage war on the Xindi without assistance. In the dark days of the mission, Malcolm had hunkered down in his office and drew out the schematics for one of the most powerful explosives he could possibly design.

Three vials of incendiary fluid lay on either side of the circular control panel. Were they actually filled with the active ingredient, he knew that the entire assembly would glow a luminescent green.

He had never anticipated putting it to use, meaning it to be more of an exercise of his wits to distract him from the possibility of everything he had ever known dying back home. As Malcolm tucked the plans away in his personal files, he imagined the harm it might bring to those who would deserve its devastation. And he had smiled.

Now that he was faced with a horrifying facsimile of a weapon forged from his own creativity, he couldn't help but murmur its chosen name. "Bostanai."

"What did you say?" Travis whispered, his voice shaky with dread.

"Don't move, Ensign. The slightest vibration might set it off," he advised, rummaging in his pocket for his communicator. Pressing the necessary buttons, he notified whoever was on the other end that they had come across a live bomb.

Once Hoshi confirmed that she had an emergency transporter lock on them should things suddenly head south, he inched forward. He was fairly sure what he was dealing with here, but he had to be certain. "I'm going to attempt to scan it."

" _Attempt_?" The helmsman questioned, his arms struggling to hold up the heavy weight.

He doesn't reply, because the view screen on his scanner confirms his worst fears. There was Vulcan and human DNA on the controls, and he was a dead man.

Subconsciously, he presses the button that would boost the scan's resolution. Just as he suspected, the lights at the top of the prototype began to flash red.

" _Enterprise_ , mark!" Malcolm cries, disappearing into the matter stream as the bomb detonates and takes down the remainder of the wing with it.

 _(to be continued)_


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Wow! Thank you for the strong response leading into my newest story. I always feel a little awkward writing in a language that is not my own. The fact that I'm not a native English speaker comes out in the fact that I write everything like an essay for my exposition and composition courses. Sorry that this chapter is a little long. I didn't want to split it and risk losing momentum.

Next time: Into the Forge we go! Also, the first major Troshi scene of the story.

 **Bostanai**

 **Chapter Two**

As Malcolm appears on the other side on the transporter assembly, he's surprised to feel his knees go out from under him. Luckily, one of the Phlox's assistants was at his side in an instant, taking hold of his arm and murmuring something about shock.

He had no clue how spot on his assessment had been.

On their way to sickbay, it becomes apparent to him that Travis is a lot worse for wear. There's a chemical burn across his shoulder, and he now sports several scrapes and abrasions on his face. He's in fairly good spirits, however, and Malcolm can't say the same for himself.

His scanner is confiscated as soon as he enters the doctor's domain, and he's strapped down to a biobed in preparation for a trip into the imaging chamber. It's the only way to rule out that the shock of yet another near death experience hasn't done damage to his nervous system. All of his protests fall on deaf ears, though; Phlox seems focused on his attempts to identify the genetic samples he'd gathered.

The prophylactic measure only takes a few minutes, but to Malcolm it feels like an eternity. He feels like he should be doing a lot more than laying there. He could be up and about, running through Enterprise's security scans in order to prove his innocence. And while they're not yet sure who the human DNA he'd recovered belongs to, he has a sneaking suspicion of who it might be.

It would make sense for him to have a personal vendetta against Administrator Havek, and by extension of that the entire High Command. And any jury in the quadrant would _certainly_ conclude that he had the means to act on it. He'd known that V'Las and his lot were powerful, but hadn't known they'd resort to this. They'd struck while he was unprepared to react. How many times had he sworn to T'Pol that he'd do some digging around with his contacts in order to look into the Syrrannites and her mother's involvement with it? So many, and yet he hadn't followed through with it, because he'd feared that something like this was going to happen.

His thoughts drifted to the line of code he'd read in the control center of the armory. The Ministry of Security, under the authority of the High Command, almost certainly had the ability to disguise their actions. Somehow, one of their operatives had snuck aboard and crafted an elaborate ruse so as to frame him. They'd wanted him to find a record of them being there. They wanted him to come after him. The manual security override function was a dangling lure for a man like him, and at that moment he decided he was more than prepared to strike.

"According to the Vulcan genome registry, the DNA on the bomb's controls was left by this woman, T'Pau," Phlox informed the assembled crowd, which included the Captain and Investigator Stel.

While the men were distracted, T'Pol strayed to his side. She holds out her index and middle finger, a gesture that he returns. It's a small comfort, but lessens their instinctive need for each other.

"And the human DNA?" The male Vulcan questions, his eyes straying over to Malcolm.

It's clear that Phlox is wrestling with his conscience. He makes a big show of returning to his data and skimming it once more. When he speaks, his voice is so tense that it betrays his dishonesty. "We didn't recover enough material to make an immediate identification. I shall inform you when the results are conclusive."

Malcolm is floored by the fact that the doctor would lie on his behalf. A few feet away, Stel doesn't appear to buy it. "See that you do. Because T'Pau is Vulcan, the Security Directorate will take charge of locating her."

"Of course. We respect your sovereignty," Archer says diplomatically, but decides to see just how far he can push the envelope. "Commander T'Pol and Lieutenant Reed will assist you."

From the way both of his eyebrows raise and he stiffens, they know that Stel has to do a double take when he hears this. "Their assistance is not needed."

"Thirty-one humans died in the blast, Investigator. We want her apprehended as much as you do," he reminds him.

"A human might also be partially responsible," Stel counters. "We'll inform Ambassador Soval of any developments that concern you." Knowing that he had won the battle, the Vulcan seizes the opportunity to make a swift exit.

Once he's gone, Jonathan steps up to the doctor's assembly. After a few seconds, he steps back with his eyes closed. "Lieutenant, are you prepared to tell me how your DNA wound up on the controls of this bomb?"

"It's not _just_ a bomb, Captain," he says, noticing how Phlox disappears behind one of the curtains to attend to Mayweather. The indiscretion he performed here today would not be soon forgotten. "I should know, because I designed it."

The silence in the room at that moment is so devastating that his heart nearly skips a beat. Archer's gaze is so penetrating, so demoralizing, that he can't escape it.

On the other side of the room, the communicator mounted to the wall beeps. T'Pol takes the opportunity to remove herself from the situation, and he doesn't blame her. It actually turns out to be for the best, because the message is for her.

"Ambassador Soval awaits you in your quarters, ma'am," Hoshi informs her, her voice lilting with curiosity.

She glances over her shoulder at the two men, one perhaps her closest friend and the other her lover. Finally tearing her eyes away from them, she exits quickly.

"Speak of the devil," Archer mumbles. "Listen. I'll meet you in my quarters in half an hour. I've got a little personal business to attend to. If you're not there at the stroke of 0300, I'll have you locked up in the brig until we can get this sorted out. Is that clear, Lieutenant?"

He nods, releasing his fists. He hadn't realized it until then, but he had great handfuls of the fabric of his trousers balled up in his fingers. He was losing hope quickly. Without the Captain on his side, it seemed that he would be doomed.

-0-

She finds the ambassador exactly where he's said to be. T'Pol finds his appearance, with the greenish bruising around his face and neck, to be a little unsettling. Soval has been a mentor to her for as long as she can remember, so it hurts her heart to see him injured.

"It is agreeable to see you again," he says, sinking down onto her bunk. Seeing his youthful counterpart has caused his age to betray him, and Soval suddenly feels immeasurably weak.

Her eyes lock on a collection of her husband's things taking up space on the armoire. It's out of place among the sparse decor of her quarters. Subconsciously, she moves to stand in front of the incriminating items. "I suppose you're here to tell me that I should have expected retaliation for the _kal-if-fee_."

"You should have," he agrees. "New security measures have been put into place. Because of my association with you and your mate, I am distrusted among V'Las's administration. For this reason, I am unable to assist with the investigation."

T'Pol blinked slowly. To her knowledge, Soval had been acquainted with her mother long before her birth. If he had known of her involvement with the Syrrannites, surely he could not condone it.

"Why are you here?" She demanded, suspecting it was to merely tell her that she and Malcolm were doomed. She believed him and his claims of innocence—by Surak, she _had_ to—but suspected that few others did.

Soval stands, rummaging around in a pocket of his diaphanous robe. "I have been tasked with investigating an occurrence that has been deemed a lower priority." Finally, he produced a small wooden box and handed it to her.

Whatever she had been expecting, it hadn't been this. Noting a flash of silver even before the lid was fully open, T'Pol found herself gazing upon her family's heirloom _kol-ut-shan_.

Throughout her childhood, the IDIC had its own place of honor above the hearth. She had been allowed to look at it, but never to touch. Her eyes narrowing to slits, she held it up to the light.

Hanging on a weighty chain of metallic thread, the copper disc was engraved with a saying that was only too familiar to every Vulcan man, woman, and child: infinite diversity in infinite combinations. Purported to represent Surak's enlightenment atop Mount Seleya in the dark times of their history, each family owned a customized medallion. Now, it seemed that it was her time to take care of it.

"This was the only thing found in your mother's cell after her escape," Soval said. "I secured it on my person before the Ministry could catalog it as evidence."

Her eyes widened. Clearly, T'Les had wanted him to find it, but it was unbelievable to her that her mentor would go against the very principles he had built his career on. "I don't understand."

"Neither did I," he admitted, taking the IDIC from her. Placing the device on a flat surface, he pressed the silver key in the center. Instantly, a holographic image appeared. The two studied the interlocking longitudinal lines and reddish terrain in silence for a moment. "Do you recognize these landmarks?"

"The Forge," T'Pol muttered reverently, for she had heard of the immense power of the desert in her years of training at the Academy of Sciences. No electronic devices worked there, nor did particle weapons or any other technology that made use of magnetism. Surak supposedly followed the path of the sands to seek enlightenment, and many a Syrrannite had perished in their attempts to do the same. It was clear to her now that T'Les had modified the IDIC in order to encourage her to come after her.

She needed no further reassurance.

"I should show this to Captain Archer. It might help us find my mother and T'Pau," she said, securing the IDIC back in its box.

"Let it guide you. I guarantee that the answers you seek can only be found on Vulcan. There, the rightful truth shall reveal itself," Soval advised.

An eyebrow was raised at that. "You believe the Syrrannites to be innocent?"

The elder Vulcan stood, bowing his head to her. Moving to the door, he offered one final tidbit of cryptic wisdom: "Don't you?"

-0-

Malcolm arrived outside the Captain's quarters a full ten minutes before the appointed time only to hear low voices from the inside. Perhaps a security detail had already been called down, and he was prepared to have him arrested and court martialed. Taking a deep breath, he entered.

He was surprised to see his wife, sitting Indian style on the double bed with the Captain. Between them, two holographic images churned and reflected. One appeared to be a map of some kind, while the other seemed to be a list of coordinates.

He cleared his throat, causing his colleagues to jump. They looked for all the world like children who had just been caught with their hands in the cookie jar. Even Porthos, Jonathan's trusty beagle, eyed him from his pallet with suspicion.

"Mr. Reed, thank you for coming," Jon began, a lot more cordially than he had expected. "Take a seat."

Slowly, a bit awkwardly, he mimicked their posture. He couldn't banish the thought from his mind that they probably looked like a bunch of school girls prepared to gossip.

"We've both spoken with Ambassador Soval," T'Pol said, and explained the purpose of the modified IDIC. As she spoke, he marveled over the attention to detail that had been accomplished in the landscape. It was truly a work of holographic art.

Archer indicated the values from the data module. "These are coordinates where there might be gaps in the Ministry of Security's sensor array, straight from the horse's mouth." He went on to tell him that he had encountered the ambassador in the cargo bay that had only a few days ago hosted a basketball tournament, but was now filled with rows of coffins. It seemed that the ordinarily straight laced Soval was now encouraging his friends to engage in some decidedly illegal activities.

Once they were finished, he decided to interject some research of his own. "As you can see, there was a data breach in my department in the early morning hours of the—"

"Lieutenant," Jon cut him off. "What you're telling me, I've already heard from your significant other."

The two men's eyes strayed to the woman in question, who did not react. Malcolm knew that he would forever be in awe of the science officer's resourcefulness. And now, he would be eternally grateful for her faith in him. "How did you know I was innocent, sir?"

"I didn't," he acknowledged, "but she convinced me. You two practically share a residence now. It's not beyond expectation for her to know everything about you."

Malcolm cleared his throat uncomfortably. It still made him tetchy to hear his commanding officer discuss a relationship between two of his subordinates so nonchalantly. He decided to change the subject before things could get more awkward for him. "I suppose one of you is going to suggest an away mission to locate the Syrrannites."

Beside him, T'Pol nodded. "I should hope that there are no arguments that I'll be leading the expedition."

This made sense. It was her mother, her heritage, her homeland. The two men accepted the proposal.

Jumping in before Jon could get a word in, Malcolm said, "I'd like to go with you. You're going to need protection."

Had they been in less tense circumstances, Archer would have laughed aloud at her facial expression. With flared nostrils and narrowed eyes, T'Pol looked like a rhinoceros about to charge. "Need I remind you that I have been on countless missions before joining this crew, and furthermore—"

Not desiring to see a lover's spat of epic proportions unfold in front of him, he cut in, "I believe T'Pol's trying to tell you that she can take care of herself."

He was very clearly indignant of the suggestion of his wife venturing into the desert without him, so he ignored Jon's feeble attempt at peacemaking. "Darling, you were nearly _sold_ into the Orion slave trade only last month!"

Turning off the holographic image with a click, T'Pol decided that she would let the less than professional address slide for the moment. "I understand that you feel as if you have a score to settle with the High Command, but believe me when I say that this is not the way to accomplish it. If you go down there with me, it will be considered a violent invasion, should we be discovered. You have no idea how close you are, _my husband_ , to being accused of the callous murder of over forty people."

The Brit exhaled loudly, knowing full well that she was right. "Fine. Captain, am I to assume that you would like to go down into this Forge?"

"It would be my pleasure," he said.

"Then I'd like for you to entertain my proposal of an undercover mission," Malcolm pursued his train of thought with earnest. "Should an arrest warrant come out bearing my name, it would be inadvisable for me to remain aboard."

"Are you honestly telling me that you want to infiltrate the High Command under a false identity in order to find out who framed you, rather than allow the judicial process to handle things?"

"I think we both know by now that going by the book rarely ends in our favor," he countered. "If I uncover any subterfuge, it may lead to the discovery of a larger conspiracy, most likely involving the Syrrannites."

The two other officers were quiet as they thought this over. As much as they were loath to admit it, each knew that he was right. Quietly, T'Pol rose to her feet. "I'll begin making preparations."

Once she was gone, Jonathan said, "I want to know more about this weapon."

It was unusual for the Captain to inquire into the technical aspects of his innovations, but he decided to humor him. "Well, it's a multichamber explosive set to detonate upon physical touch or—"

He waved his hand to interrupt him. Thinking that this was his cue, Porthos lept onto the bed and curled up at Archer's feet. "That's not what I mean. Lieutenant, I've always encouraged you to be looking out for the next big thing. When you show me your prototypes, their names are usually a series of numbers and symbols. So why is this one different?"

He couldn't be serious. Of all the questions he could ask about his motives or what he wanted to achieve by going undercover, he had chosen that one?

"It's from a Hebrew legend I read as a youth. My educators at boarding school were very keen on studying the folklore of other cultures," he said. Malcolm was a little hesitant to own up to it, but he had spent a great deal of his teenage years with his nose buried in a book.

Seeing how the Captain had leaned back against the wall, his arms crossed above his head, he knew that there was no hope for him getting away with the ten cent explanation. Sighing, he began, "There once was a very powerful Persian shah named Hormuz, or so the story goes. He wonders why the Jewish people have kept the faith even after being persecuted under his reign, and his advisor responds that it is because they share a common ancestor in the House of David and all of their hope stems from there. The king ordered his soldiers to depart the palace and kill every Hebrew man, woman, and child. He believes that if the Jews were to be exterminated in his kingdom, this would cause the people to be demoralized everywhere else."

"Like the Xindi when they set out to bomb Florida," Jonathan mused, his eyebrows knit together.

Malcolm nodded. The attack had certainly caused a ripple affect across the planet, reaching the external colonies and everyone aboard _Enterprise_. "The shah dreamed that he was walking in his rose garden, only every bloom around him was red. It was to symbolize the blood that had been shed. For the next year, no prized roses would grow in Persia. Hormuz grows angry and hacks at the bushes. An old man appears and asks him why he was so unsatisfied with the destruction he had already brought down upon the Jewish people that he must kill the last blossom. When it appears that the old man is going to kill the king, he falls to his knees and begs for his life. If only he'll be spared, he'll locate the last flower and cherish it."

Had the Xindi succeeded in their mission to eliminate humanity, only isolated populations that had managed to run and hide could survive. "Unlike the king, they never would have regretted their actions," Jonathan mumbles, and Malcolm is glad that he is beginning to understand.

"He searches far and wide for someone that can interpret his dream. Finally, a wise rabbi tells him that the old man in his dream represents King David, and therefore he has promised to care for the last living descendant of him in the kingdom. The rabbi brought to him a young boy he named Bostanai, in honor of the rose garden. He was raised as a prince and brought much prosperity to the kingdom, proving that he was of truly noble blood time and time again."

The Captain was silent for a moment as he took all of this in. "So you're saying that you developed this weapon in hopes of achieving _peace_?"

He buried his face in his hands. "I know it seems counterintuitive, but everyone was in a rough spot in the time we thought you were dead. If the Xindi were exterminated in one region, I held onto the foolish hope that the rest would abandon their pursuit of us and things would return to how they were. I know now that war can't be solved with bloodshed alone, although sometimes I dearly wish that it could. It would make things a whole lot simpler."

Jonathan couldn't help but chuckle at that. "You're right. It's a pity you never got to put it to a noble purpose. From the specs that your wife gave me, the Bostanai seems like a hell of a weapon."

"I'm not so sure that there will ever be a noble purpose for a weapon like that, sir, not as long as I'm alive," Malcolm answered. Truthfully, he was tired of blood being spilled on his hands. But it was starting to look like his dirty work was far from over.

"If I were you, I'd go see Doctor Phlox about some prosthetic ears," the Captain said after a few moments in thought. Taking a hint, he stood.

"I suppose I don't have to ask that you watch over T'Pol in my stead, do I?" With one foot already in the hallway, he turned over his shoulder to ask one final question. For the first time in a few hours, he had been able to crack a wry smile.

His superior officer scoffed in good humor. "You've got nothing to worry about. Get some rest, Lieutenant."

"You too, sir," Malcolm said shortly before the door closed behind him.

Archer sighed, allowing Porthos to climb in his lap. If they were to depart the next morning, there was still a lot of work to be done. Activating the data module that Soval had left him, he began to scrutinize the list of coordinates. They'd be needing a plan, and probably several backups.

Hell, with his luck, he might as well list them all the way down to the end of alphabet.

 _(to be continued)_


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Are we halfway through the episode already? I hadn't realized how much of it was meaningless filler until now. A note to all of my readers who are native speakers of English: if you are reading and find a grammatical error or an incident of poor word choice, please tell me! I won't take any offense, because it's how I'll get better. I speak four languages in total, and English is without a doubt the most difficult. I don't know how you all manage.

Hats off to Belen09 for offering her opinion on the matter of the bomb, putting forth a bit of conventional wisdom that I used here.

Next time: The pilgrims meet Arev, everyone's favorite double crossing desert dweller. Also, something runs afoul with the data Malcolm collected. Just a bit more filler until we meet the Syrrannites!

 **Bostanai**

 **Chapter Three**

"Lieutenant, do be careful not to bend down next to any open flame!"

The sudden reminder startled Malcolm, nearly causing him to nick his brow with a razor. Phlox, who had shouted this order, was surveying his handiwork from a distance.

From their adventures with the Akaali, the crew had discovered the doctor's talent for prostheses. Whether it be false cranial ridges or in this case latex ears, he placed undue flourish into every piece. Several times his expertise had been called into question for plays put on by recreational groups aboard, and he was only too happy to oblige. A hooked nose from the science department's production of _Cyrano de Bergerac_ even stood in a place of honor on a high shelf, the misshapen lump of medical grade silicone remaining a talking point for everyone who entered sickbay.

Presently, Reed was leaning over the sink shaping his eyebrows to a pedigree Vulcan standard. The doctor had pointed out that using a laser would have been more efficient, but he was nervous to bring such a tool so close to his eyes as it was. His old straight razor, manufactured for men who preferred to harken back to a distant time, would have to do.

He felt incredibly out of place in Ambassador Soval's clothing. The last time he had donned a set of Vulcan robes, he had nearly been killed in the _kal-if-fee_. In fact, there was no guarantee that he'd return from this mission either. If this were to keep up, he might as well purchase some robes for himself.

 _If there is a weapon, humanity will find some means to use it._ That had been a popular saying among the students at his university. In his history courses, they had discussed wars of centuries past, sometimes scoffing at the ridiculous reasons world governments would use to justify the killings of millions of people. He had sworn that he would never turn into the bloodthirsty monsters that he studied, even though he often had to memorize their tactics and validate their actions to a group. It was difficult to admit now that he very nearly had turned into the kind of man he didn't want to be.

Given the chance, at the proper opportunity, aimed at the right species, would he have used the Bostanai? There was no doubt in his mind that he would have. But once he put himself in the position of the people whose lives he would have destroyed, he began to think better.

If there was one thing his time in Section 31 had taught him, it was to see the bigger picture. The High Command wouldn't have gone to the trouble of stealing the schematics for the bomb if they were just going to use it to round up some pacifist dissidents. No, even if they were going to find a way to shift all the blame onto him and get away scot free, this could only be the first step in a long chain of events.

That had been his personal justification for deciding to go undercover. He thanked God that he didn't have to justify it in the end. This decision was risky, dangerous, and not to mention wholly inadvisable, but he couldn't back out now.

The doors to sickbay open and T'Pol enters wearing her desert gear. It consists of a white catsuit and a floor dusting ivory coat, incongruously stylish for the terrain she was about to face. The last time he'd seen her wear it, they'd been defending a deuterium mining colony from a troop of Klingon marauders. He distinctly remembers the sight of her incapacitating two men with little more than a flick of the wrist. At the time, he hadn't known himself to be infatuated with her, but that had been a strong indicator of what was to come.

She hesitates when she sees his transformation. His skin has been colored with a demipermanent makeup, causing her husband to appear infinitely more tan than he actually was. Malcolm even seemed to stand up straighter in the ambassador's robes, as if he knew they suited him well. Clearing her throat, she says, "The Captain and I are preparing to depart. We will have no contact with _Enterprise_ or with you once we are on the ground. Soval has fully falsified the information you'll need to get into the compound. Here is the profile of the identity you will assume."

Malcolm accepted the PADD from her, scanning over the details to make sure they were correct. As far as anyone on the surface knew, he was an independent contractor from a security firm on the southern continent. The name he had requested had even come through.

"You honor my father with your choice," she said, her eyes hovering over the moniker that brought her back to distant memories. _Sanet_.

He shrugs, as if it had been a spur of the moment decision. "It's a popular name."

T'Pol is having a difficult time maintaining eye contact with him, knowing that she was going to have to bid Malcolm farewell for such an extended period of time. They had seldom been apart since their marriage. Given that the one exception had been little more than a hostage situation, the loss was still felt. Slowly, she stood on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear.

His eyes widened as he processed what it was she had to say. Her attempt to give him something to remember her by had flown by with all the subtlety of a train wreck. But he couldn't pretend that her comment hadn't affected him. Holding her at arm's length, he said, "Be careful, Commander."

That could have meant multiple things, as it somehow managed to betray both Malcolm's anxiety and anticipation about what was to come. As they stepped apart and T'Pol moved to leave, she only had one thing to say: "Always, Lieutenant."

-0-

Upon entering her boyfriend's quarters, Hoshi heard the shower running. She found this unusual, for although they had gotten off shift at the same time, he had raced from the bridge without so much of a word to anyone. Furthermore, he hadn't joined her for dinner. It was looking more and more like he was trying to avoid her, a very difficult thing to do on a starship. Rapping on the bathroom door with her knuckles, she called out, "Do you want to talk about it?"

From inside, Trip didn't miss the unmistakable humor in her voice. Normally, that would have cheered him. But now he was so absorbed in his anger that he didn't want to think about anything else.

The door slid open, revealing the man with a towel wrapped around his waist. As steam billowed out from behind him and he pushed past her into the room, Trip said, "Nope."

She crossed her arms while she thought of what to say next. Typically she was the one to balance him out whenever he got into one of his moods, which hadn't happened for a while. In fact, the last time she had seen him so sullen he had ran away from the vacation home during a tropical storm. She could say as much, but didn't want to risk opening old wounds. "You're in command until they get back. You can't act like this around the crew."

Trip sighed, realizing that he really ought to stop acting like a petulant child. "I know that, Hosh, but I can't believe I'm being asked to be an accomplice to all of this. Just what the hell do I tell the Vulcans if they come around asking to talk to Jon?"

This confused Hoshi, for he already knew what to do. They had both sat in on the same briefing, hadn't they? "He's doing what he thinks is best. I was a little skeptical, but after hearing all the facts, I agree with him. And we can manage without the Captain. We've done it before. Don't you have faith in yourself?"

Poking his head out from the closet where he was getting dressed, Trip replied, "It's not us I'm worried about. We could lose all three of them down there. I'm not even sure we've heard all the facts."

She sits at the end of his bed, tucking her knees up to her chin. "Do you honestly think Malcolm's lying to us?" There was an unsaid question wrapped up in that, and it all depended on whether he believed the docile armory officer was capable of murdering forty-three people.

He emerges dressed in his pajamas, eyebrows climbing into his hairline. "I definitely think it's possible. Did you hear the specs on the goddamn thing? If he can build that, he can definitely think about how to use it."

Sato frowned. He knew Malcolm better than she, but she was hesitant to yield to his knowledge on this particular subject. They had all pledged allegiance to Starfleet, having been indoctrinated with a set of morals that had been ingrained in them since the start of their training. Surely after all he'd been through, all of the races he'd seen pulled back from the brink of destruction, he couldn't bear the thought of the slaughter of innocents. "He doesn't seem like the type to kill, Trip."

"They never do!" He's gesturing wildly with his hands. "Everyone's got a dark side, including him. You'd think he'd put himself in the situation of people who would lose everything, but some just don't have that kind of moral compass."

Were they still speaking of the bombing of the United Earth Embassy, or something else? After all the progress they'd made, she didn't want his thoughts to become fixated on his sister's death once again. "Alright, fine. I understand. But let me ask you, would you kill if you were ordered to? If you felt like you _had_ to?"

He was silent, but Hoshi knew that the answer was yes.

"That's the difference. Malcolm didn't have to do anything. He'd already won the battle. He got the girl and kept his life. He's got his career and reputation and everything else going for him. Why would he put all that on the line to work for the Andorians, or the High Command, or the Syrrannites, or _whoever_ did the deed, just to kill his own people and put his own neck back out on the chopping block?"

Trip sat, exhaling loudly through his mouth. He really shouldn't be making any snap judgments at the time, but there was a part of his mind that hated the mystery of the chase. Archer often wondered in his private moments alone with him what would happen if _Enterprise_ were to return to their original mission of exploration. Could they ever really do so, or would they be trapped in an endless cycle of disaster response as far as the eye could see?

"Why do I feel so conflicted?" He wondered aloud, laying down in his bunk.

His significant other copied his movement, propping herself up on her elbows. "It's because you know I'm right," she responded coyly, and flashed him a kind of smile he could never refuse.

Really, he didn't, but he wanted to humor her. Drawing Hoshi close and depositing a kiss on the bridge of her nose, he said, "I hope you are."

-0-

Jonathan could live one hundred years and never experience such oppressive weather conditions as he did on his very first day in the Forge.

The sun beat down relentlessly, bathing him in a dry heat that was anything but welcoming. He was struck by how monotonous the landscape was. With the reddish sky and black outcroppings of rock, the sameness was almost _repulsive_. It was filthy. It was desolate. It was a gross caricature of everything a desert was supposed to be. He had learned long ago to reserve judgment about a location while on an away mission, but he wasn't feeling optimistic at the moment.

With every step, the ground shifted underneath his feet. As they climbed their first dune, T'Pol told them that the place they were now standing was where Surak was rumored to have begun his journey. The history lesson was lovely, but could they really get moving?

Most of the day's travel was conducted in silence, save for his first officer pointing out inconsequential landmarks along the way. In his mind's eye, he drifted back to his days of survival training in Australia. That was where he had first learned how to survive in the desert. Erika had been on his team, and although he felt like he was going to die with every action he did, her presence had made it worthwhile.

He hadn't indulged his feelings to anyone, but he missed her already. The little camping trip he was currently engaged in would be a little more bearable if he had someone to banter with. Well, he _could_ try and joke around with T'Pol, but he doubted she'd entertain his witticisms.

Just as they were starting to settle down for the night, he heard a low drone overhead. Jon immediately recognized it as that of a hovercraft. "I thought technology didn't work here."

"The dampening field only extends a few hundred meters above the ground. The patrol craft can fly over it, but their sensors can't see us," she replied.

That must be why she'd chosen a narrow ledge on the side of a ridge to set up camp. If they were spotted from overhead, they'd appear like a bunch of fallen rock. "No wonder the Syrrannites like it here."

There was no response as she silently stared out into the distance. After a while, Jon began to rummage in his pack for water. "Can I ask you a question, T'Pol?"

She hesitated, but eventually said, "I don't see why not." They'd be spending the next few days together, after all, so she'd have to get used to the Captain's constant needling once again.

"How are things going with Malcolm?"

At first he thought he'd committed a grave offense, for she had grabbed a hold of his wrist and clenched tightly. But then he saw that she was not looking at him, but turning her ear to the wilderness. "We're being stalked."

The noise that had been almost inaudible before was now ten times louder, an outlandish, piercing shriek. Standing along with her, Jon exclaimed, "What the hell was that?"

" _Sehlat_ ," she hissed, the very word sounding treacherous as it rolled off her tongue. "Run!"

Honestly, he didn't need to be told twice.

As the duo made their way to higher ground, he peered over his shoulder at the mysterious animal that was chasing them. It was a ghastly thing, the unholy love child of a grizzly bear and a saber toothed tiger. If they were to survive this predicament, the sight of it would be nightmare fodder for sure.

Once they had arrived at a safer height and it became apparent that the _sehlat_ wasn't going to climb after them, Archer inquired breathlessly, "How long before it loses interest?"

"Days at least. They're very persistent creatures. When I was a child, I had one as a pet."

Watching the animal pace back and forth below them, Jon realized that they really wouldn't be going anywhere. He slung his backpack off his shoulder and lowered it to the ground. Just as he was about to doze off for a bit of fitful rest, he heard his second say, "To answer your question, we are fine. I am content in his presence."

"Glad to hear it," he mumbled into his makeshift pillow. As much hiking as he had done today, he really wasn't in the mood for conversation.

After a while, he heard T'Pol roll out her sleeping bag beside him. Almost instantly, he felt a finger poking him in the ribs.

"Commander Tucker often mentions that you have a female friend of special significance. I have been engaged in relations with a human long enough to know that this often means romantic involvement."

He couldn't believe his ears. His science officer, who would ordinarily be pleased to talk shop until the cows came home, was asking him about his love life? Silently, he cursed Trip to high heaven.

"I can't really tell you anything, T'Pol."

"Why not?"

"I just can't, alright?"

"Is she aboard _Enterprise_?"

So she was concerned about him dating below himself in the chain of command. This was a little ludicrous, considering she was doing the very same. But the last thing he needed was her reporting back to Tucker and not realizing how this information could fuel the rumor mill.

"No. Haven't you read through the senior staff appointments for the _Columbia_? It's Captain Hernandez," he finally came out with it.

T'Pol is silent for almost a few moments as she processes this. Finally, he receives her verdict. "I have read her biography. I understand that you have some prior history with her. All things considered, she seems like an honorable choice. Allow me to extend my congratulations, Captain."

Even though his head was covered in the jacket of his desert uniform, T'Pol could hear him groan.

 _(to be continued)_


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I can't believe how much filler is in this chapter. We're finished with the first episode of the three, save for the last scene. I'm becoming aware that there's no way any sequel could be better than the original, but we're already pretty far in. _Lass die guten zeiten ruhen_ , as they say in New Orleans. Or is it something else?

Next time: Every minor character gets to have their day, for which we are eternally grateful. Also, the reunion of T'Les and T'Pol.

 **Bostanai**

 **Chapter Four**

Trip couldn't believe his ears. Then again, at the moment his eyes weren't being that trustworthy either, so he didn't know what to believe. From what the doctor was telling him, T'Pau was undoubtedly innocent of the crimes she was accused of. Had they a way to inform the Captain of this, it would change the entire nature of his mission to the Forge. But seeing as they didn't, he would be left to deal with the ramifications of the discovery alone.

It was clear than V'Las was so determined to eliminate the opposition to his administration that he would resort to whatever means were necessary. The sample was from the DNA that had been catalogued at birth, therefore the meager evidence they had collected against the woman was a fabrication. In all honesty, Trip had expected this. From what he had read, the Syrrannites were averse to conflict of any kind. It wouldn't have made sense for them to attack their own.

"There's something else," Phlox said, moving to where he had titrated the human sample. "This DNA clearly belongs to Mr. Reed, with one inconsistency."

Tapping on the screen, he zoomed into an area on the far left. The complex folded shape of a synthetic protein was barely visible. The Doctor paused, looking at him expectantly. Obviously, he was proud to have disproven the Vulcans not once, but _twice_.

"I give up, doc. What is it?"

He gestured to the back of the room, where a large refrigeration unit kept watch over several dozen blood samples. "That, Mr. Tucker, would be the preservation fluid I use to stabilize the DNA of every single member of this crew."

It was as if a light bulb went off in the engineer's mind. "So you're saying that there's no way Mal had his hands on the bomb. They must have stolen the sample from us." Again, he spoke of the elusive entity they. He knew that the Syrrannites were innocent, but the Vulcans were still prime suspects.

"Precisely, Commander. And if that is the case, it stands to reason that they probably stole the prototype of his weapon as well," he replied, giving him a beseeching look that made him feel strangely guilty. At that moment, he knew that his girlfriend had sought out the expertise of the doctor in her down time. Phlox was many things, including the unofficial counselor for a great deal of the crew. Wasn't _anything_ private anymore?

Trip exhaled loudly. "So Archer's gonna waltz right into the Syrrannite camp, guns a'blazin', and demand to speak to T'Pau. They're probably gonna assume she's guilty, and get on her bad side. And there's no way to tell them that they're looking for the wrong person."

The Doctor had no time to respond before the comm went off. "Administrator V'Las is waiting to speak to you in the ready room," Hoshi's voice carried a hint of exhaustion, as if she was already sick of playing tag with the High Command.

At the moment, Trip wasn't feeling particularly patient. "Route him up through here, Ensign."

"To sickbay?" She sounded doubtful.

"Why the hell not? Nothing of ours is sacred anymore," he exclaimed, running his fingers through his hair. Phlox, shaking his head and muttering under his breath, quickly stepped out of the viewing range.

A few seconds later, the lined face of the shrewd older Vulcan appeared on the screen. Trip slid onto one of the biobeds and tilted the console to face him so that it would be out of view to anyone who entered. After this latest discovery, he was only willing to afford V'Las the bare minimum of respect he thought the man deserved.

The Administrator was, as usual, straight to the point. "I wanted to inform you that an arrest warrant has been written out for Lieutenant Malcolm Reed. We are prepared to take him in to custody immediately. Stand by for boarding."

Trip's stomach lurched at the news. He had hoped they would have time to formulate even the bare bones of an action plan, but clearly this would not be the case. "I want to speak to Ambassador Soval," he stammered, then cursed his lack of grace under pressure.

"That will be unnecessary, Commander Tucker. May I speak with your Captain?"

The doctor's round face peeked out from behind a curtain at the far end of sickbay, shaking his head furiously. "I'm afraid that he's indisposed at the moment."

"Is that so?"

A scanner was held aloft, followed by a few very frantic hand signals. Trip was never good at reading lips, but he eventually got the gist. "Yeah. Terrible stomach problems, too sick to report to duty this morning. He'll be confined to quarters for a few days until whatever bug he has clears up."

V'Las looks unconvinced. "And Reed?"

Shifting uncomfortably, Trip set his jaw and ground out, "Well, I'd _love_ to help you, Administrator, but I honestly have no idea where he is."

If he was phased by this news, he didn't show it. "The fact that he has left _Enterprise_ to evade justice only reinforces his guilt. He is now a prime suspect due to his involvement with the Syrrannites."

"I wouldn't count his mother-in-law's membership as involvement," he replied, his patience running thin.

He smirked, as if he was entertained by Trip's naivety. "The High Command has studied his movements for some time. He is a brilliant researcher, but inherently illogical in the actions he takes. We know that he has the means to develop a weapon like the one we've studied, and the fact that it was planted under the station of former Administrator Havek's establishes a clear motive."

Placing his elbow on the wall and leaning into it, he feigned boredom with what V'Las had to say. "It's funny that you say that, because we've just identified the human DNA found on the controls as Lieutenant Reed's."

The curtain came open again, and Phlox appeared little more than horrified. But he knew that sometimes one needed to play the game to get ahead. Vulcans could clearly lie and cheat with the best of them, so it was time for him to stoop to their level.

Finally, a reaction. V'Las's eyes widened marginally; clearly he hadn't expected Trip to admit this. Then again, if they could catch the humans in this lie, it would only add another layer to Malcolm's perceived guilt. And maybe he was, for all Tucker knew.

He couldn't sit still any longer. It was better to send the High Command on a wild goose chase while their efforts were more focused. "As I was saying, Administrator, we'd be more than willing to help you find him, _but_ —"

"Our jurisdiction still stands," V'Las reminded him. Behind his eyes, Tucker was pretty sure he could see the wheels turning, already working three steps ahead. "The bulletin will be put out on all public media channels on the surface. We thank you for your cooperation."

The smile he offered before the connection was cut off was nothing short than malicious. Irrationally, it caused a chill to shoot up Trip's spine. He was on his feet and to the comm in seconds. "Hoshi, get me Ambassador Soval. I don't care what kind of strings you have to pull. I want him up here _yesterday_."

There was a pause, then her voice, which sounded strangely tinny and far away: "You might want to come down here and see what Ensign Novakovich found first."

-0-

The next few hours were all a blur for Jonathan. The heat was getting to him and they were running dangerously low on water, but at least they had picked up a guide of sorts.

Arev had been quick to make his presence known to the travelers, mimicking the call of one of the _sehlat_ 's natural predators in order to free the path. After they had spun some sort of ridiculous yarn about being a student of Surak under the instruction of T'Pol, he had offered to let the pair walk with him. This was perhaps against his better judgment, for he had warned that this climate was not typically traversed by humans and that his kind would only slow down their progress. Even though he might have been disagreeable at the beginning, Archer soon discovered that Arev was full of the sort of tranquility that could only befall the religiously devout.

Jonathan had spent the first leg of the journey proving himself to the pilgrim, who was clearly doubtful that a middle aged human male would bother studying Surakian logic. He'd offered vague answers at first, but as his questions grew more difficult, Archer realized that Arev had trapped him with his own ignorance on the subject.

"I believe that he may be a Syrrannite," T'Pol murmurs to him, and he believes her. After spending weeks pouring over letters from her mother to the others, she should have a general idea of what philosophy they followed.

He slowed his pace, allowing Arev to get some distance away from them. "If we want him to take us to the others, we're going to have to come clean about why we're here."

Suddenly, his second stopped in her tracks. She appeared pensive with her ear to the wind, just as she had been when she first detected the _sehlat_. "Sand fire!" T'Pol yelped, then took off running.

From behind him, Jon could hear the sands beginning to shift. Shafts of blue lightning shattered the former calm of the desert afternoon, striking rocks that were only meters from the path. And was it his imagination, or was the place he was standing in instantly twenty degrees hotter?

He was having trouble keeping up with the cloud of sand at his heels, seemingly sucking him backwards. Arev was already ahead of them, standing before a narrow opening to a cave. "Over here!" He shouted, his eyes shielded to the storm.

The two scrambled in after him, but they were far from out of danger. Under Arev's instruction, they began to pile large stones in front of the entryway. Jon should have known that something was wrong immediately, because he felt it in his gut. He had felt similar sensations shortly before Earth was bombed, and nearly every time an away mission went awry. Even though he knew he should trust him instincts more, he also knew that they were easy to ignore. He continued to pass the rocks into his companion's hands.

For the moment, they were safe. Archer staggered towards the back of the cavern and knelt down, spent with exhaustion.

"I know this medallion. Where did you get this?" Arev was saying, grabbing at the IDIC around T'Pol's neck.

She defensively stepped away from his grasp. "From my mother."

The Vulcan's eyes lit up. "The daughter of T'Les serves aboard a human starship."

The seeds of recognition had been sown in that short exchange. He was on his feet and at her side, as if daring Arev to disapprove.

"You're the human that was held responsible for the destruction of the monastery at P'Jem," he said softly. "The High Command defiled P'Jem when they used it to spy on Andoria. You exposed their hypocrisy."

Jon couldn't miss the hint of admiration in his voice. "You seem to know a lot about us. I guess that means you know why we're here." He was starting to realize that they may have made an error in trusting Arev. He could be anyone, an operative for the High Command or a hired assassin.

A flash of lightning struck dangerously near to the opening of the cave, but Arev didn't even flinch. Turning to T'Pol, he assured her, "Your mother is safe with the others at T'Karath Sanctuary. It's not far. I'll guide you both there when the storm has passed."

-0-

It was difficult to keep a low profile when the entire city of Shi'Kahr was on high alert for further terrorist threats. Malcolm had made it through the first of several security checkpoints, his hood pulled up and eyes trained to the ground. He doubted that anyone would recognize him with the extensive cosmetic work Phlox had done, but one could never be too careful.

He was surprised when the false identity that Soval had provided for him checked out with the guards. It had always been in the back of his mind from the beginning of their mission that they couldn't trust the Ambassador, but it was now seeming more and more plausible. That was his way; if he trusted few men, he would never be stunned when they betrayed him in the end.

The headquarters for the Ministry of Security was expansive, so Malcolm spent a great deal of time wandering around trying to get his bearings. With his new name and likeness, he had access to nearly every part of the building. His expertise was needed, after all, to aid against the impending threat from the humans and Syrrannites.

No, the irony did not escape him for a moment.

Malcolm never had trouble keeping a straight face, but when he caught sight of his face on a monitor, he had to pause.

On the screen, a broadcaster droned on and on about the events of the past few days in a level monotone, in what amounted to what was probably the most boring newscast on the planet. So the arrest warrants had come out for both he and T'Pau after all, with a hefty award offered for one or the both of them captured alive. He watched as the story continued; he and this mystery woman were time and time again painted as dangerous criminals.

Underneath the shadow of his hood, Malcolm smiled. If that was what they wanted, he would have no choice but to give it to them.

-0-

The storm was raging outside, but the intrepid trio of travelers were quite content inside. Over the course of several hours, they had settled into each other's company, even if that meant constantly looking over their shoulders for an attack.

Seeing as Arev already knew so much about them, T'Pol had decided that he wouldn't be opposed to some more invasive questioning. "Did T'Pau orchestrate my mother's escape from prison?"

"Of course she did," he said lightly, "as well as several others. I have on good authority that the entire operation went over without any bloodshed."

"The High Command doesn't seem to think that's your way. They've mentioned repeatedly that they believe Syrrannites are responsible for the bombing of the United Earth Embassy," Jon told him. He refrained from mentioning that one of his officers had also been implicated.

The Vulcan seemed to sigh wearily. "Then they know nothing. Tell me, young one, has your mother told you the story of the IDIC?"

T'Pol was somewhat indignant to be spoken down to as a child, but she still passed the medallion into his hands. "Infinite diversity in infinite combinations."

"Correct," he said, turning the disk over between his fingers. "Surak tells us that the story of the IDIC has no end. This has become a shadow of its former meaning, but it begins here at Mount Seleya."

"Surak died on Mount Seleya," she advised her Captain to keep him from falling out of the loop.

"His body, yes, but his _katra_ was spirited away before the final battle against those who march underneath the raptor's wing."

Something about this struck a chord with Jonathan, as if he had heard this before. But he didn't have time to question the meaning of it before T'Pol continued: "I have read that it is the essence of the Vulcan mind. The Syrrannites believe that it can be transferred from the body before death and stored in some manner."

Arev seemed pleased that she had done her research. The fact that this had been done clandestinely while sorting through her mother's personal affects was unimportant. "Some say that the _katra_ is passed down through our ranks, and one may touch Surak's mind through a meld."

His eyes darted between the two, as if he was daring them to say something against the practice. T'Pol avoided his gaze, for it was all-knowing. Somehow, this enlightened Vulcan had seen through her and discovered her darkest secret. What Tolaris had done was shameful, yet she did not feel ashamed in Arev's presence.

The barricade they had built in front of the entrance rocked, and then collapsed entirely. T'Pol, who had been sitting with her back to the storm, was nearly crushed when a falling rock missed her by mere inches. Their guide was not so lucky, as he was struck by a bolt of lightning and thrown backwards several feet.

Jonathan had to make a snap decision between attending to his first officer or this man he had just met. But something was telling him that he had to be at his side. With his hands braced around Arev's shoulders, he bore witness to the Syrrannite's last words.

Years later, he wouldn't remember what they were. He was too busy hurdling through time and space, his mind inexplicably violated and full of knowledge that was not his own.

 _(to be continued)_


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: The shortest chapter yet! I'm predicting that this may reach twelve to fifteen, depending on how fast I can slog through the filler on the way to the action. Remember, the subtle changes are the most influential. I finally get to tweak all the little things that annoyed me about the original story line!

Next time: Malcolm does a little underhanded research with the help of Soval, while mother and daughter finally get to talk things over.

 **Bostanai**

 **Chapter Five**

Almost immediately after returning to consciousness, T'Pol noticed that her Captain was behaving strangely.

He had apparently been struck by Arev when he was in the throes of death; however, he wanted to depart their hideout immediately. When she suggested that they take the time to bury their guide, he turned up his nose at the idea. Then he said that if she was correct and the drones were patrolling overhead in some sort of identifiable pattern, they should try and reach the more mountainous areas of the Forge before nightfall. Avoiding visual contact was their only way to reach the Syrrannites without incident.

It was not the first time he had used her own logic against her, but that didn't mean that she liked it.

The two walked all day, Jonathan repeatedly refusing her offers for a drink. He would only mumble something vague about not needing any water for a few days, or about an upcoming landmark she had failed to mention. It was concerning. The concept of Terran heat stroke came to mind, but just before she was going to suggest that they rest, he would change paths.

It was ludicrous for the Captain to think that he could find the Syrrannites based on instinct alone. T'Pol's chastisements fell on deaf ears. The man stood stock still in front of a vertical wall of rock; then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, walked directly through it.

Later, she would be ashamed that she had hesitated to follow him. Past the holographic barrier, she was finally able to bear witness to the wonders of T'Karath Sanctuary.

Thick columns dotted the antechamber, and the floors were rock smoothed over the centuries by thousands of footsteps. The Captain strode into the foyer with confidence, looking around as if he owned the place. Instantly the room was swarming with Syrrannites.

A strong arm wrapped around her waist while the other gripped her shoulder. Even as she fought the assailant that had come at her from behind, T'Pol could feel the pointy end of a weapon pricking her side. Ahead of her, Jon remained remarkably calm.

"We want to see T'Pau," he told the guards, who were murmuring amongst themselves. "She is expecting us."

They didn't have to wait long to see the woman in question, who swept in with a flurry of self-importance. Her hair was longer and a bit more unruly; she probably hadn't had a change of robes in quite some time. Yet she still carried a regal air about her, causing all of the Vulcans in the room to bow their heads out of respect.

"Who are you?" She demanded.

"Captain Jonathan Archer of the earth vessel _Enterprise_ ," he answered her, causing T'Pol to start. She'd never heard him refer to the ship in this way.

T'Pau looked between the pair, obviously coming to the decision that there was no point in making introductions. They had arrived here all on their own, so they clearly knew what they were looking for. But was that a favor from the High Command?

"And you must be the daughter of T'Les," she eyed her disdainfully. "You are she who has abandoned her people to live with the humans. In the cities, they say that you have made a farce of everything that is the _kal-if-fee_ by taking a mate that is not your betrothed. Perhaps you are here to ingratiate yourself to the same officials that took away everything you had. If that is the case, I can assure you that I will not leave the sanctuary of my own free will."

If only to keep up appearances, the guards standing on either side of her hoisted their weapons. Jonathan smiled, for he knew the true nature of the Syrrannites.

"We would do nothing of the sort, for we believe your innocence and seek to help you. This human you speak of—my mate—has also been accused of the attack," T'Pol said, not breaking eye contact even as she made the incredible leap of faith. This was a simple test that she had been on the receiving end of many times at the academy. Even if your adversary were to question your honor, it was a Vulcan's way to remain stoic. But, really, she had no verbal ammunition against the woman; every subtle insult she'd used against her had been true.

This came as a pleasant surprise to T'Pau, who had expected the young woman to grow agitated. Perhaps her mother had been incorrect in saying that her emotions were close to the surface.

"They say you attacked my people," Jonathan began, "but I can't see how you could."

When they had left _Enterprise_ , they'd only suspected that Malcolm had been falsely accused. The High Command's prior injustices had led him to wonder if the Syrrannites were innocent as well. He'd thought about it on the entire way here, but only recently something had changed. Being in the presence of these enlightened scholars made him feel at peace. At home. Like he belonged, and they could never lead him astray.

"We are clearly both victims of unpleasant circumstance," T'Pau observed. "I personally orchestrated the mission to free your mother from prison, but unfortunately we struck at the most inopportune time."

Jonathan was quiet, although he personally thought that it had to be the worst case of bad timing in the history of the universe. "Or perhaps at exactly the right one," he interrupted quietly.

From behind T'Pau, there was a rustling of feet. An older woman burst into the clearing, someone that apparently T'Pol recognized.

While mother and daughter exchanged a rather awkward greeting, T'Pau continued to speak. "When we heard that the bombing had taken place only hours afterwards, we arranged for an IDIC to be dropped in our stead, hoping that divine providence would bring it to the correct individuals. Did you visit the prison personally?"

"We did not. It was a gift from Ambassador Soval," T'Pol replied.

"This ambassador had clearly risked his career to assist you. For additional assurance, our leader left the sanctuary to locate you." Fear crossed her expression. "Did you come across our guide?"

Archer was kicking himself inwardly. He should have sensed it earlier. The man that they had met in the desert had been too damn perceptive for his own good.

"Did he happen to call himself Arev?"

-0-

Trip Tucker burst onto the bridge and into the full view of a dozen anxious crewmen. It was near the end of his shift, and although his patience for the current situation was wearing thin, his day was far from over. Immediately he approached Hoshi, ignoring the very eager science officers that had stepped in front of his path.

"Did you manage to get through to Soval?"

She shook her head to indicate the negative. "His assistant says that he's in a meeting with the High Command."

There was no doubt in Trip's mind that this was due to his assisting the humans. He wanted to throw his hands up in the air, to curse the powers that be or pace the room in great circles like his friend Malcolm often did. More than anything, he resented being in control of the ship. When he was, fate tended to conspire against him and throw him the most ridiculous hurdles imaginable, present situation included.

"I'll be in engineering. Let me know when he responds." He needed to return to his element, to mindlessly tinker with a bit of scrap metal for a while until things became clearer for him. A misstep now could be fatal.

Hoshi seizes his elbow just as he turns to see a handful of enthusiastic junior officers vying for his time. At the moment, he wasn't sure he could endure a visit from T'Pol's studious cadre, but it didn't look like he had the choice. His girlfriend encouraged him, saying, "Trust me, you'll want to hear this one."

He sighed loudly. "Alright, out with it. Don't tell me you called me down here to show off a new breed of lizard you detected on the surface or something equally ridiculous."

Ensign Annamaria Socorro, who was the type of woman that still wore horn rimmed glasses for stylistic reasons, shook her head violently. "No, Commander, it's so much more exciting than that. I'd tell you all about it, but it really wasn't _my_ discovery."

His eyes darted to a second crewman, one Jeffrey Pierce. He had clearly recovered from being sold and then bought again at an Orion slave trade only last month, for he was fairly brimming with excitement. Trip couldn't be sure, but he thought that the young science officer was bobbing on his toes. "Was it you, then?"

"Not me, sir. When the lady went on her away mission, she left us a list of tasks to complete and full reign of the laboratory. Usually we don't do anything without asking her first, but we took the extra initiative this time. This wasn't exactly on our list of sanctioned activities, _per se_ , but—"

Trip cut him off, suddenly remembering how much this particular ensign loved to talk. It struck him as humorous that the junior officers in the science department had a habit of referring to T'Pol as a sundry of respectful names other than her rank. In addition to _the lady_ , he had also heard the likes of _our fearless leader_ and _the supervisor_. In contrast, everyone in engineering just called him chief. The science department was a ragtag group of scholars and academics as compared to Trip's innovators. Hell, if T'Pol was royalty, she might as well be queen of the nerds. "Who made the discovery?"

The two stepped aside, revealing their companion. Ensign Ethan Novakovich was a quiet young man, one whose past on _Enterprise_ had been marred by a particularly violent away mission in which he had nearly lost his life. Even three years past the incident, his face was covered with innumerable amount of scars. In addition to nearly losing his wits, he had been the victim of a transporter accident on his way back up to the ship. He now had to live with permanent reminders of the twigs and leaves that had been embedded in his skin, and the social stigma that accompanied that.

"Well, don't just stand there. Tell me what you found, Ensign," Trip prompted, leaning against the science station.

He cleared his throat before starting to explain, his recitation only interrupted by a stutter every few seconds. "As you know, sir, the automated security system aboard scans for foreign biosigns—that is to say, those that do not belong to the crew—and reports back every ten minutes if there are changes in the ship's complement."

Turning his PADD around in his arms, he pulled up two sets of data side by side. "Here is a list of all the biosigns that the computer returned with in the early morning hours of May sixth. Ten minutes later, the next results arrive. Note that they are identical."

His peers seemed to be hanging on every word, but Trip was starting to feel like this entire buildup was for nothing. He waved his hand in the air, as if telling Novakovich to get to the point.

The science officer was beginning to sweat. This was more than he'd spoken at one time in ages. Clearing his throat, he continued: "I think we can all agree that if the scans were conducted more often than ten minutes it would be pretty repetitive. Or, at least, make for some dull work for the gamma shift."

Socorro and Pierce laughed nervously, but Ethan was beginning to speak faster and faster. If it didn't come out now, it was never going to. He brought up another screen, which seemed to be a schematic drawing of the armory. "At 0130, the computer began its sweep of C deck, which included Lieutenant Reed's office and the area immediately surrounding it. It noted a discrepancy in the grid that lasted only a little under forty-five seconds. Because it disappeared after that and didn't come back for the rest of the time interval, the computer assumed it had made an error and archived the incident."

Hundreds of lines of code appeared, only to be replaced with what he assumed to be the raw data associated with a biosign. "The security system is programmed to recognize only one Vulcan biosign unless otherwise told to. But this one belongs to a male Vulcan, approximately sixty years of age, of average height and a genetic predisposition that indicates heritage from the northern continent of the planet."

With exception to the gender, this was remarkably similar to T'Pol. It was no wonder the software had become confused.

"I got Annamaria and Jeffrey, and together we combed through the staff of the Ministry of Security and those who work directly under the High Command with those specific parameters. We didn't have authorized access to the database in so many words, but there was one match."

When Trip saw the intruder, his heart skipped a beat. Behind him, Hoshi couldn't help but gasp. He knew that he had to warn Malcolm, because there was a distinct chance that he was working underneath the bastard as they spoke.

"Locate the exact whereabouts of Investigator Stel, Hosh. Be as discreet as possible," he said softly, and she quickly complied.

Trip was about to turn and escape in Archer's ready room to consider these most recent developments, but something held him back. Ensign Novakovich shifted uncomfortably, looking like someone entirely resigned to his fate. "Will I receive a reprimand for hacking into the High Command's network, sir?"

A short bark of laughter escaped his lips, his Southern drawl exaggerated with emotion. "Nah, Ethan. In fact, if we weren't out here in the middle of God and ev'ryone, I just might plant one on ya."

 _(to be continued)_


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: I'm afraid to say that the times for daily updates of this fic have passed. My summer courses at the university start in a few weeks, and my family and I are going on a series of road trips to fill out these endless weeks that are neither here nor there. Updates will be every two days, at least. I hope this doesn't disappoint you guys; the quality of my story won't suffer, I promise! Right now we're probably going to reach twelve or thirteen chapters, which is a lot longer than Haven. But I think we can all agree that there's a lot more to get around to this time!

Next time: Trip gets on that rescue attempt, while T'Pau becomes very interested in Jonathan...or more specifically, what he's carrying.

 **Bostanai**

 **Chapter Six**

It wasn't long until the assembled crowd had dispersed and T'Pol was left to discuss matters with her mother in private. However, T'Les wasn't satisfied until she had led her to a remote chamber on the outskirts of the sanctuary. They did not speak.

When she was satisfied that they were alone and far from prying ears, T'Pol knelt before her mother and placed her head in her lap. It was a comforting gesture rooted in her childhood; the older woman brought the memory full circle by running her fingers through her daughter's hair.

"I have missed you, _ko-fu_. I regret that they did not allow me to see you after I bargained for your mate's release," T'Les began.

She sat back on her haunches, but otherwise did not move. "Your actions saved Malcolm's life, and for that I am grateful." Witnessing her beloved being beaten to death had been a distinct possibility, especially when Koss had been so determined to fight for the honor of his family.

T'Les doesn't meet her eyes, assuming a more businesslike posture. "You must have questions for me."

How typical of her mother. Even in her juvenile outbursts of emotion, the scientist's attempts at comforting her daughter had been stunted and brief. This paled in contrast to T'Pol's memories of her father, who passed away when she was seven. He was a vibrant man with a gift for storytelling; everything he touched became magical in the young girl's eyes, and everything he told her was enchanting for its vivacity. Logic dictated that she should cease comparing her parents, for he had been deceased for nearly sixty years. But her trip through the Forge had stirred up something within her, a desire to reach out and connect to the past.

"Did you intend for us to find the IDIC, and the documents hidden behind the stasis unit?"

"I entrusted the delivery of the device to Ambassador Soval. He could have brought it to the High Command and had the sanctuary destroyed, but he did not. You underestimate, dear one, just how much your mentor cares for the greater good," T'Les said.

After all that had happened over the past few weeks, she had little doubt in that.

"As for the correspondence between T'Pau and I, perhaps one could say that you and your mate were meant to find it," she continued. "I have been growing disillusioned with Vulcan society for quite some time. I had to find answers. Could you possibly understand that?"

The halls of the sanctuary had grown quiet. Only the shadows of conversation in the main corridors could be heard, even if one strained. T'Pol watched her mother's face and the expectation that manifested itself there. After everything the High Command had done—nearly killing her husband for the sake of pride, defiling a monastery, suppression of dissent, double crossing on an agreement between species—she could reasonably see why T'Les had seen it acceptable to take action. Silently, she nodded.

Noticeably relieved, T'Les rose to her feet. "Before your champion fought for you, I told him that everything I have ever done has been for your benefit. Now we together have a chance to seek justice for the whole of our people. I know that you came here seeking the truth behind the bombing of the embassy, but I know that you will leave having discovered much more than that."

Neither woman could have understood just how true that statement would prove to be. T'Pol knew in that moment that she had no choice but to join her mother. If she were never to see Malcolm again, she would need something to hold on to. In the end, when dust came to dust, all that there would be was the truth. The preservation of that truth would prove to be the most difficult.

-0-

Lieutenant Reed was halfway across the courtyard that separated the High Command and Ministry of Security buildings when a tap on the shoulder caused him to nearly jump out of his skin.

He turned and saw that he was standing toe to toe with a familiar face. Whether that was a welcome surprise was yet to be seen.

"I must say that this is a clever disguise, Lieutenant, although it is not enough to hide your identity from those who have seen you before," Soval said, a smirk pulling on the corners of his lips.

It was surprisingly difficult to remain casually detached while his heart was racing out of his chest. "Ambassador, it is agreeable to see you again."

The older man returned the _ta'al_. His eyes darted from side to side, as if he was looking for people that would recognize them. He then to walk quickly away in the direction of the nearest building.

Malcolm waited a few seconds, and then followed him at a discreet distance. Once they were satisfied that they were relatively out of sight, Soval began to speak. "I have just come from a meeting with the High Command. They are plotting to bombard the T'Karath Sanctuary and eliminate as many Syrrannites as possible."

His blood ran cold. There was no question that his wife and the Captain were already there. Whether they had located T'Pau and made any headway in their case was only a matter of time. "When?" He asked harshly.

"As soon as preparations can be made," Soval responded.

He pondered this for a moment, taking great care to maintain an impassible expression. It was quite possible that the High Command had lied in the presence of the ambassador, for they knew he would only turn around and inform the humans. But if they weren't, he didn't have much time to act.

"I need to get into the main chambers of the Ministry of Security. If we can give them just an inkling of suspicion that we're on to them, maybe they'll reconsider," Malcolm said.

The two men began to walk again. All things considered, it was a lovely day; the heat in the city wasn't too overbearing, and the sun was only just beginning to set. "How do you presume to prove your innocence?"

After rummaging around in his pockets for a few moments, he produced a listening device no larger than a coin. "I'll need you to get as close as possible."

"To whom?"

"I think you know," Malcolm said cryptically. Just before the ambassador was to enter the building, he turned the opposite direction and passed the disk into his hand.

Soval seemed skeptical, but complied. It seemed that there was so much more he wanted to say, so conflicted was his expression in those next few seconds, but he couldn't bring forth the words. Finally, he intoned, "Fare thee well, Sanet."

"Peace and long life, Ambassador Soval," he replied, before continuing on his way.

It would be a few moments before Malcolm could reach his temporary lodgings and set up an impromptu listening post. He knew that if the Vulcan was caught assisting the opposition, he could be dismissed from his post or even worse. For the sake of his wife, the Captain, and every Syrrannite currently residing in the Forge, he hoped that Soval possessed some degree of stealth.

By now, then news of his arrest warrant would have reached Earth. He could imagine his mother and sister being shocked by the bulletin; other people, like his father or Harris, wouldn't be surprised in the slightest.

That was another thing. Reed knew that he could just as easily reach out to former members of Section 31 for help. They would be able to accomplish things in the underhanded way he remembered. It was their power that had first attracted him to the organization all those years ago. Even now, the ability to wave a wand and have all of one's problems disappear was incredibly enticing. But, if he slipped back into his old ways, he would never be able to face T'Pol again. The shame would eat him alive, as it was doing now, but for a different reason.

Sealing the door behind him, Malcolm settled into a familiar routine. Gathering information was still his specialty after all this time. When he activated the device, he was dismayed to hear nothing but static.

Perhaps Soval really had been caught. Fear clenched his stomach and he was dangerously close to developing an escape plan when the microphone crackled to life.

At first it wasn't much, but then the quality of the audio increased sharply, as if it had been affixed to the underside of a table. It was then he heard Soval's voice: "To my knowledge, Lieutenant Reed is no longer aboard _Enterprise_."

There was a pause, and then a response. "Do you think he has attempted to join the Syrrannites?"

The voice was so familiar that he quickly racked his brain to match a face with it. In the meantime, Soval was engaged in trying to tell the most convincing lie possible. "Undoubtedly. Considering the dissidents have abandoned their pacifist ways in the recent months, I surmise that he is using his tactical skills to assist them in plotting a counterattack."

Alone in his room in the visitor's compound, Malcolm punched his fist into the air. Let them believe he was a heartless killer, for that was far easier to believe than the truth.

"It is best for you to remain on Vulcan for the time being, Ambassador. The humans needn't know about the planned airstrike on the Forge." There was a creaking noise, like someone had just settled down in an office chair.

"Agreed, Investigator Stel," he replied, accenting that name so loud that it nearly came out as a shout. Silently, Reed thanked the ambassador for gift wrapping this hint for him, even if his subtlety left something to be desired. "I will continue to placate the Captain. I am pleased to report that the daughter of T'Les still believes her mother is a criminal."

Well, that wasn't _technically_ a lie, but Stel wasn't buying it. "If both her mother and mate are Syrrannites, it is doubtless that Lady T'Pol also counts herself among their ranks. With both of them dead, she will be shunned on both Earth and Vulcan. Let this be so; V'Las wants her alive to tell the tale."

His gut clenched with rage at the thought of his wife suffering any more than she already did. On the other end, Soval was also having difficulty letting this comment slide. "I will keep you informed on any more developments." Then there were heavy footsteps, decreasing in volume.

"Your assistance is invaluable, Ambassador," Stel called after him as he exited the room. He seemed relatively satisfied that Soval was still on their side. Even though he had shown favor to the humans before, when the Vulcan way of life was on the line, it was not surprising that he would choose the correct path.

After some time, someone else entered the investigator's office. The voice was unfamiliar and oddly effeminate, but he doubted that was important. "Sir, Operative Senel sent me to inquire about a debriefing pertaining to your mission aboard the—"

"Quiet," came the response, a bit more sinister than he'd ever hear a Vulcan sound. "There will be no debriefing, and no further discussion of the matter. Advise him that his expertise was needed, but the investigation surrounding the Bostanai prototype is now closed."

Malcolm was so stunned that he nearly forgot to breathe. Leaning forward, he was now hanging on every word that was said. "When will we know if the humans are in league with the Andorians?"

"The schematics are still being analyzed by our development team for similarities to the weapons that were used to destroy the monastery at P'Jem. You are dismissed, sub-lieutenant," Stel replied with disinterest, as if it was of little consequence.

It was a clever ruse for the Ministry to tell their operatives that the reason they were sneaking onto a starship in the dead of night was for the good of all of Vulcan. Malcolm's brain was numb now that the greater deception had been laid before him. He could only focus on what had to be done next. Shutting off the audio feed with a snap, he rummaged in his pack for his communicator.

Perhaps it had been unwise for him to bring fleet issued gear along with him, but the inexplicable joy he felt when he heard Ensign Sato's voice on the other end was indescribable.

"Malcolm, is that you?" She asked cautiously, not recognizing the disguised frequency at first.

"Hoshi, I know who stole the prototype," he hissed excitedly, for the first time seeing a glimpse of light at the end of the tunnel. Now he could prove his innocence, have the warrant in his name dismissed, and focus on the bigger problem. Everything just might be okay.

There was a scrambling on the other end, and then two people began to speak in her earpiece at once. "It's funny that you say that, because so do we."

The southern accent was unmistakable. Malcolm had never been so grateful to hear that hideous drawl in all his life, so he eagerly listened to Trip's explanation of what the doctor had discovered in the sample DNA.

When there was an opportunity to get a word in over the hushed babbling, he said: "The High Command is also planning to get rid of the problem with Syrrannites by—"

"Bombing the shit out of the Forge? Yeah, we know that too," Trip interrupted. "Who do you think Soval let know about that before he even told you?"

So that was it. Now that everything was out in the open, Malcolm was in awe of the gravity of the situation. This might be one instance where just a knowledge of the issue wouldn't be able to save the day.

"We're planning a rescue mission to retrieve the Captain and T'Pol. If that's all, maybe you might think about calling back when you discover something we _don't_ already know…" He trailed off. Reed could practically hear the smugness in his voice, as if they were relaxing in the mess after a duty shift and not in a middle of a fight for their lives. It was comforting in a strange sort of way.

He made arrangements to contact them again in twenty-four hours. It was his hope that he would have something to tell them at that point. But he knew what that would require, and was hesitant to get the ball rolling on the next endeavor because of how dangerous it would most likely be.

He was going to have to reclaim the Bostanai.

-0-

"In truth, his name was Syrran, and he was our leader," T'Pau was saying, although that didn't mean that Archer was listening.

After T'Pol and T'Les have left to work things out between them, he had found himself in the company of the young woman. She was confident, but had a way to go in terms of charisma. Earlier in the conversation they had touched on events of the previous few months, including her shock at hearing that T'Les had confessed to her involvement with the Syrrannites to allow her daughter to marry her chosen mate, and the anguish Jon had felt when he had learned that his good friend Admiral Forrest had been killed in the bombing of the embassy. According to T'Pau, these emotions were not entirely distasteful, as long as one knew how to set them aside and think pragmatically.

He had listened dutifully to her explanation of the central tenets of their beliefs, but he was growing more and more lightheaded. It was as if all of the air had been smothered out of his lungs. The muted colors of the room swam before his eyes, and without any warning he had lapsed into unconsciousness.

Bombs exploded in the distance, coloring the sky with shrapnel and thick smoke. If he strained, he thought he could hear screaming as the village at the base of the mountain was destroyed. Everything he saw was cloaked in haze, except for the figure that stepped out from behind a column. He was suddenly snapped into focus, and his words were booming in his ears.

He shouldn't resist the inevitable, the call for action that had chosen him out of everyone. He was intimidated by this, but didn't block him out. There was something about the man that was so familiar, so comforting, that he instantly knew who it was.

When Jon came around, he felt T'Pau's slender fingers on his cheek and temple. Her eyes were wide with wonderment, and when he met her gaze, the only thing she could bring herself to say was, "Remarkable."

 _(to be continued)_


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: I have to ask, is anyone going to Star Trek Las Vegas in August? I need a convention buddy, and it'll be the return of my TOS!T'Pau cosplay.

The farther I get into this fic, the more I realize how much backstory I'm skipping. I've been writing fanfiction for two years, and it's always been a struggle to replace action with introspection. Luckily, with Malcolm on the ground and his fellow senior officers aware of his plight, we don't need to cover a lot of ground. Besides, we're all experts in this show by now, right? Right.

Next time: We're two-thirds of the way through Awakening, which means that the next chapter will be the end of the second episode of the three-episode arc. That is to say, Hoshi gets to kick some ass, Malcolm discovers some even more heinous foul play, and it's full speed to Andoria.

 **Bostanai**

 **Chapter Seven**

It turned out that when the newly elected leader of the Syrrannites set her mind to something, no one had much chance to argue. Before Jon knew it, he was being herded out into the open air in the presence of around one hundred Vulcans.

He had wondered how many were in their ranks, and now he knew. It was humid, but not oppressively warm, as the sun had only recently come up. The crowd was eerily silent, even reverent. He hoped that they hadn't come out expecting a show.

T'Pol and her mother were last to arrive. Both women looked much less tense than when he had seen them only an hour before. As she stepped into the sunlight, Archer was surprised to see her inner eyelids slide into view. His science officer, loyal to the end, then came to stand beside him. Her eyes darted between him and T'Pau, and he didn't have to be an expert in body language to tell that she was nervous.

"This man has seen Surak in a vision, and I bore witness to it," T'Pau said loudly, addressing the multitude.

At his elbow, T'Pol became agitated. "You initiated a mind meld without asking for his indulgence?"

Jon could understand her anger, considering the pain that had been inflicted on her due to this egregious lack of consent. The truth was that he hadn't sensed T'Pau's presence until it was too late and the contents of his mind had been laid bare.

She held up a hand as if to placate her, a dismissive gesture that only served to fuel her anger. Out of the corner of his eye, Archer saw T'Les inch closer to her daughter.

"Our leader Syrran, who referred to himself as Arev when he made your acquaintance, carried the katra of Surak. This qualified him as an authority on such matters as enlightenment," T'Pau continued. "If he knew that he was close to death, he would have tried to pass the katra along to someone else."

There was a quiet murmur among the crowd as they took in this information. From their conversation with Arev—or _whatever_ his name was—Jon knew that T'Pol didn't necessarily believe in the preservation of katras. He didn't blame her; the whole idea that he was carrying the living spirit of a man that had died eighteen hundred years ago was a little far-fetched. But clearly this meant something to the Syrrannites, and to her mother, so she was trying to take this in stride. When he turned his head to look at her, her expression was of wide-eyed wonderment.

"This is not just the residue of thoughts that appears after a meld," she concluded. "Centuries ago, our ancestors made use of katric arks to preserve the spirits of their elders. In extreme cases, when the technology was unavailable, they utilized living vessels. This immense knowledge may be extremely advantageous to those who know how to use it."

He could certainly read between the lines there. Clearly T'Pau didn't believe that, as an offworlder, he was suited to carry the katra of the planet's imminent philosopher. He wasn't going to argue with that; while on the trail to prove the innocence of his armory officer and possibly uncover a larger conspiracy, the last thing he needed was a Vulcan ghost wasting space in his head.

"Is there any way to transfer the katra?" There was no doubt that if he could pass it on to one of the Syrrannites, they would be able to interpret Surak's infinite wisdom much better than he could.

T'Pau hesitated. "There is a procedure, but the risks are considerable."

His second took the opportunity to insert herself in the conversation. "Captain, you may suffer severe shock to your nervous system, or even be killed."

Turning, he met her eyes. Jon shared her fear, but at this point he felt like they had no other choice. In order to ingratiate themselves to these people, they would have to give them a little incentive. After receiving their gift, perhaps T'Pau would be more open to joining forces with them to expose the High Command for what they truly were.

He wasn't sure that he managed to convey all this and more in a single glance, but a moment later she was nodding as if she understood.

While they were communicating in the silent way they had created in the three years they had worked together, arrangements were being made. Upon noticing that the attention of the crowd was now back on her, T'Pau said, "We will commence the process in one hour. I would like to extend my appreciation towards Archer for his receptiveness to the transfer of the katra. Doubtless it will be much easier this way than if I had to take it by force."

-0-

Earlier in the afternoon, Trip's spirits had been high. For the first time in the past few days, he had actually been optimistic about what might happen. They had the upper hand in the fight against corruption; after spending some time formulating a plan to thwart the bombing of the Forge, they had wanted to set it into action immediately.

That had all been ruined by a message that had arrived to Hoshi's station from the chambers of the High Command. With her boyfriend hanging over her shoulder, she had read it instantly upon arrival: "Investigation into the attack on the Embassy is nearly concluded. Assistance no longer needed. Depart within the hour."

His hand came down on the top of the console, causing everyone within a ten foot radius to jump. "Goddammit!" Trip swore, his tone thick with vitriol. "That bastard's so busy plotting the deaths of innocent people that he can't even bother to show his face."

Hoshi winced at the intensity of his anger, but she couldn't deny the sensation of unrest that was building in her gut. "I found something of interest hidden in the trailing code of the message," she added, even though that typically wasn't a normal procedure.

With Malcolm on the ground, it appeared that the ambassador was also getting into covert operations. Attached to the data signature that accompanied every message that was sent out when he was in attendance had been a few dozen lines of code.

"Is that what I think it is?" His heart was pounding so loud he was sure that everyone on the bridge could hear it.

She nodded. "Jamming frequencies for a geopositional satellite. I already did the calculations. It's enough to wipe out their detection grid for six minutes."

Fingers hovering over the comm button, he said, "That's plenty of time to get in and out."

Maybe this was true, if one was Travis Mayweather. The man in question was on his knees underneath the dashboard in shuttlepod one, rigging one of the most sophisticated pieces of equipment he'd ever laid his hands on with a ball and stick navigational system. He'd been taken aback by the list of limitations the Forge presented, but had graciously accepted the challenge. It was like stepping back into the technology of the twentieth century. All the same, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't nervous.

Over the drone of the welding tool before him, he heard his communicator go off. On the other end, Commander Tucker sounded anxious.

"The High Command just gave us an hour to break orbit. You've got ten minutes to suit up, Ensign. We've got a deadline to beat," he advised.

Now _that_ was ridiculous. He still had at least three hours of downgrades to perform on the engine before he would ordinarily call it fit to fly. He was about to say as much before he was interrupted yet again.

"I'll be down there in a few minutes, and I'll bring Corporal Cole along for more muscle power. Remember, we need to be as stealthy as possible. No sightseeing."

Had they been in less dire circumstances, he would have laughed at Trip's halfhearted attempt at a joke. But seeing as he had only a handful of minutes to get the shuttlepod in top shape, Travis could only say, "Understood."

Lowering the goggles back over his eyes, he set to his work.

Back on the bridge, Hoshi was deep in thought. "I think they're worried about witnesses."

This made sense. Just like the Nazis under Hitler didn't want the democratic powers to witness their systemized slaughter of minorities, V'Las didn't want to be charged with interplanetary war crimes for his attack on the T'Karath Sanctuary. It was deplorable, but they had a chance to beat him at his own game of secrecy.

"They should be," Trip replied, the glint in his eye devilish. He made a move to enter the turbolift, but stopped in his tracks.

Before she could protest, he was at her side once more and his lips were on her cheek. Something was afoot, but she couldn't bring herself to chastise him for his less than professional farewell. Hoshi realized that there was one more very important missing ingredient to their plan.

"What about Malcolm?"

Trip shrugged, as if he hadn't thought about it before. Even if V'Las's bombardment of the Forge were to go through, his job would be far from over. A second trip would have to be made to retrieve him. Just a few days ago, he hadn't trusted his friend to even leave the ship without supervision. She wondered what had changed.

He was most likely on his way to check on Travis's progress. "Give 'em hell," she called out in a flawless imitation of his accent, earning a smile for her efforts.

A second later, the doors of the turbolift slid shut, leaving her alone with her thoughts and the preeminent knowledge of a tragedy on the horizon.

-0-

An electrical sandstorm had churned up in the early part of the afternoon, confining the Syrrannites to the interior of the sanctuary and setting every chamber in an eerie glow resultant of the lack of natural light.

Squinting, Jon could see that there were several levels built into the side of the wall. On each ledge, onlookers serenely perched with their candles, observing the gathering below. T'Pol hadn't even tried to talk him out of his decision, but had resigned to hovering over him like an anxious mother for the better part of the last hour. Now, she sat in the front row of attendees, and he could see that T'Les had a firm grasp on her upper arm.

"Passed down through the ages, the katra of Surak, the father of all we hold true, lives on in this man. Let it now live on in me," T'Pau intoned, approaching him from behind.

The makeshift altar where he knelt was somewhat low, so the Vulcan had to bend at the waist to reach him. Jon stared directly forward, listening to the master of ceremonies speak in a strange, guttural dialect.

It was as if he had been walloped in the back of the head with an oar. The pressure on his skull from her fingers was so intense that his hands immediately came up to try and stop her. With the last bit of fleeting consciousness he had left, Jon reminded himself that this was for the greater benefit. His hands fell to his sides.

Across the room, T'Pol was about to bolt. When her mother restrained her, however, she didn't try to fight.

Snow fell thickly on the ground of the chamber he stood in. No doubt this was an intrusive memory from elsewhere; Jon doubted that it had ever snowed on Vulcan. Surak appeared much worse for wear than the last time he'd seen him. Green lesions dotted his face and his voice was weak in a way that implied radiation sickness.

He listened to the emaciated philosopher explain that logic had not won the day. In order to make right what was wrong, he must find what the Vulcan people had lost. As a human, Archer was untouched by a culture that had lost its way, and only he could find the Kir'Shara.

Having been privy to the entire discussion, T'Pau was overcome with the weight of the situation. Her fingers fell from Jonathan's temples, causing the now unconscious man to fall forwards into the dirt. T'Pol was there in a second, cradling his face and shoulders.

"I have failed," she gasped to anyone within earshot. "Surak chooses to stay where he is."

The look T'Pol gave her from below was positively venomous.

She tried mightily to appear sympathetic towards the Captain's predicament, but in reality adrenaline was coursing through her veins. If Surak had chosen Archer to locate the Kir'Shara that meant that it must be nearby. After all this time, they had a chance to find it.

-0-

A few hundred miles above the Forge, shuttlepod one was struggling to make its way through the atmosphere. Travis's hand was clenched firmly on the joystick, while he braced his elbow on the dashboard for greater stability.

Trip Tucker was at his side, much closer than he would have preferred. Really, the engineer had no idea how close they were to incinerating upon entry and breaking into a thousand pieces. Hovering above his helmsman while he held them in a precarious balance between life and death was inadvisable.

He was about to snap at him when the entire craft suddenly jolted sideways. Behind them, Corporal Cole muttered something about how she should have skipped breakfast that morning.

"These thermal bursts are only going to get stronger," he warned her, eyes trained on the screen.

The other occupant of the shuttle staggered to the back, peering out the porthole. Two Vulcan pods were in hot pursuit of them, weapons engaged. "That was no thermal, Ensign!"

Jamming his thumb onto the comm, he was dismayed to find that they had already lost contact with _Enterprise_. Travis commenced evasive maneuvers and waited for the damage reports to come in.

Their shielding wasn't standing up to the geomagnetic field around the Forge. Tucker was bustling around the enclosed space shouting out what they had lost, and he couldn't help but think that they may have been able to make a smoother entry had he been given his promised three hours to make upgrades to the shuttle.

Banking sharply upward and then back down again, Travis came within an uncomfortable distance to the back of the Vulcan transports. The g-forces they experienced were incredible, but Amanda was on it, delivering a fatal shot to their engines with incredible accuracy. The two crafts lurched and descended, most likely to crash in the desert far below.

By this time, they had lost part of the starboard wing and the targeting sensors. Mayweather was a world class pilot, but that didn't mean that he had much faith in himself. Shouting over the din, he said: "We're going to have to abort!"

"Keep going. You can get us down!" Trip responded frantically, the idea of abandoning two senior officers supremely distasteful to him.

"Thrusters are offline. Even if I get us on the ground, I sure as hell won't be able to get us back up," he exclaimed.

The two men made eye contact briefly, long enough for Tucker to have a sudden change of heart. Nodding towards his helmsmen, he grabbed hold of his seat as the chemical rockets propelled them up and out of the atmosphere.

Back on _Enterprise_ , Hoshi was perched precariously in the captain's chair. Her fingernails dug into the armrests so hard that she feared they would leave a mark. Malcolm's second reported that the craft had been fired upon and subsequently damaged. Due to this, they were headed back to the ship.

She was somewhat relieved, although this probably meant more trouble for them. Her assistant, green with inexperience and frazzled by everything that had to be done in a combat situation, called out: "There's three ships closing in on our position, and we're being hailed. It's Administrator V'Las."

There was no time to hesitate. Standing up and assuming a broad stance, she ordered, "Put him through."

 _(to be continued)_


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Here's where the story takes a darker turn. The next few chapters carry strong trigger warnings for death and torture. Don't worry, everyone-in this version, T'Les is spared! And you will soon see why...

Next time: The first bit of the final of the three episodes! Our intrepid trio of explorers encounter a bit of resistance in their quest to the High Command. Malcolm meets his captor, and Shran overreacts in a manner that only he can. Bless him.

 **Bostanai**

 **Chapter Eight**

It was not the first time that day that Hoshi found herself wishing that she wasn't the only member of the senior staff on the bridge. The eyes of every single junior officer were on her, waiting to see how she would handle the situation. She couldn't disappoint them.

"Why did you launch a shuttlepod?" Administrator V'Las demanded as soon as he came onto the view screen.

She fluttered her eyelashes, more than anything to show that she couldn't be intimidated. Although she had been standing, she found herself climbing back into the captain's chair. "I believe the more important question would be why you fired on it."

The elder Vulcan was clearly taken aback by her boldness. In the background, his subordinates began to chatter amongst themselves. "You are under no authorization to be here. Answer the question."

"We're looking for some of our officers," Hoshi replied, examining her fingernails for traces of dirt. "They must have slipped out while our backs were turned."

Something must have clicked in the administrator's thick skull, for he was absolutely fuming. "Your communications have been monitored. We know that Archer and the daughter of T'Les are on the surface searching for the Syrrannites."

Behind him, Minister Kuvak was mystified. Nothing of the sort had been revealed from their monitoring of _Enterprise_ 's transmissions. V'Las was making a gamble, and an outrageous one at that.

Hoshi, however, wasn't giving anything away. Looking him dead in the eye, she said, "Then you must know that we're on to you."

"Are you admitting that you sent several officers into our territory against direct orders?"

Turning to her second, she raised an eyebrow. Immediately, the crewman began to work away at her console. "That depends, Administrator V'Las. Are _you_ admitting that you've committed some sort of wrongdoing?"

Tucker came onto the bridge at that moment, prepared to take over his position in the command chair. However, seeing his girlfriend in action, he decided to hang back, a knowing smile on his lips.

When intimidation didn't work, the High Command resorted to their typical threats of violence. "You are to break orbit now or I will order my ships to open fire."

She tilted her head to one side. "I'm sorry, your Excellency. What did you say?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Hoshi's second deliberately scattering the frequency with a few keystrokes. The static increased, and then the image flickered out entirely.

It took a few moments for Trip to realize that they had just hung up on the Administrator without preamble, much like an old trick involving a bag of potato chips and a phone receiver. Whistling low to himself, he said, "Damn, darlin', you're a genius."

Hoshi smirked and turned away, as if the praise had been undue. Deciding to savor the moment, she twirled a finger into the air and made towards the back of the room. "Commander, meet me in the ready room on the double."

-0-

Meanwhile on the surface, Jonathan was just coming around to consciousness. The first thing he saw was a very concerned looking Vulcan woman bent over him, dabbing his brow with a wet cloth.

It wasn't who he had been expecting. Maybe the migraine was playing tricks with his mind. With a weak voice, he asked, "Where is T'Pol?"

T'Les sat backwards onto her haunches, avoiding all eye contact with him initially. When she spoke, it wasn't without so much inflection that he knew she was telling him falsehoods. "She became ill soon after you collapsed. Seeing her captain in such a vulnerable state was unsettling for her."

She helped him sit up, but kept a protective arm wrapped around his shoulders. Now that he was upright, the throbbing pain in his head worsened. He knew that they hadn't successfully removed the _katra_ , for he could feel the presence of Surak right between the eyes. And the ancient philosopher sure was restless.

At the far end of the chamber, the egress to another tunnel appeared to shift and shimmer. Jonathan blinked several times, but it didn't disappear. Finally, he staggered to his feet and made slow progress towards the mirage.

T'Pau entered the room at that moment, supporting his science officer by the arm. He only afforded T'Pol a cursory glance as he continued his trek, but it was enough to notice that she was pale as a sheet and appeared very weak.

"Kir'Shara," he muttered reverently, propping himself up against the threshold.

"What do you know about it?" T'Pau inquired severely, shrugging off her companion.

He turned back just in time to see the eldest of the three women exit in a hurry, perhaps to alert the others. "It was important to Surak, and it's in there."

"Syrran would never lead us astray," she muttered to herself, her eyes briefly darting to T'Les's retreating frame. "Our telescopes have spotted three cruisers above the Forge. It is in our best interest to evacuate immediately."

Although she was weak at the knees and disoriented from her bout of nausea, T'Pol found it strange that her mother would leave without saying goodbye. "The High Command must know we're here," she gasped as another wave of revulsion hit her gut.

Her beloved must have failed in his mission. He was dead, and shortly she would be too.

Knowing that she had nothing left to lose, T'Pol hefted a torch from its post on the wall and led the way into the tunnel, followed closely on her heels by Archer.

-0-

"Administrator V'Las has ordered that Enterprise be driven out of orbit using all necessary force," Soval told him breathlessly. "The Forge is being bombarded as we speak. We've run out of time."

Malcolm continued his brisk jaunt down the corridor. He knew that his good friend Trip would never leave orbit unless he had no other options. That meant that he couldn't abandon his post unless he could say the same.

Two heavily armed sentinel ships passed overhead, undoubtedly on their way to carry out their orders and kill his captain and wife in cold blood. His heart beat out of time, and his head swam with unadulterated rage. "You're wrong!" He exclaimed, a bit too loudly to have comfortably maintained his cover. "We can still best them. I just need a distraction to get into their system myself."

"And accomplish what?" Soval retorted. "You don't know what you're looking for, and there's a high possibility that you could be—"

He grabbed hold of the ambassador's arm and brought his nose within a few inches of his. " _Enough_! Are you with us or against us?"

That was an unfair question, and both men knew it. There was a moment they were at an impasse, and then Soval surrendered, all of the tension leaving his body. "There's a weak boundary near the third security checkpoint. Disable the motion sensors and you're into the Ministry of Security's inner computing core."

Reed didn't want to ask how he had gotten this information. Nodding briefly, he didn't bother to express his thanks. He was on a mission, and neither hell nor high water could stop him.

-0-

Deep in the catacombs of the Forge, Jonathan led the expedition through the labyrinthine tunnels under the ground. T'Pol had fallen to the back of the pack some time ago, and it seemed to him that she was having trouble keeping up. They passed countless open caskets, where the mummified remains of ancient Vulcans stood exposed to the elements.

Occasionally he would stop before one of them, regardless of the time limit that had been opposed on them, and had recited their name, rank, or accomplishments. The two women would afford him this luxury, listening to the irreverent details he would spout off before continuing on their quest. Far above, they heard the steady explosions of mortar shells drumming the ground.

Approaching the end of the tunnel, Jonathan came across a circular panel with a variety of inscriptions. He examined this for a moment, then reached out and touched the center of several of the impressions.

The barrier slid away to reveal a miniature monolith in the shape of a triangular pyramid set atop a podium. Archer instantly recognized it from the annals of his memory, and even though logic dictated that he should check his surroundings before charging forward, he entered the chamber and retrieved it.

This is what Surak had intended him to search for. He was surprised that the ark had some heft to it, as if it held trillions of lines of data within its structure. Passing it into the hands of T'Pau, he awaited her verdict.

"I had doubts whether it really existed," she confessed. He relished the way her eyes lit up as she turned it from side to side, examining the carvings on each surface.

The ground shook beneath them, nearly tossing the explorers off of their feet. Jonathan had the Kir'Shara back in his arms in an instant, cradling it as one would an infant.

"We need to get out of here," T'Pol said, the fear of being buried alive underneath the crumbling sanctuary suddenly very real. Her companions agreed, and they began to make tracks in the direction they had come in.

Dust and particles of rock rained down on the trio, twice causing them to change their path. At that moment, both women were silently counting their blessings that Jonathan had inherited some preternatural sense of direction from his possession of the _katra_.

By the time they reached the surface, night had fallen onto the Forge. The rate of explosives hitting the ground increased as the order was given to blanket the area. The holographic image that had been covering the top of the sanctuary from overhead view flickered, then disappeared entirely. A sandstorm that had raged earlier in the afternoon had since quieted, but the winds still raged and made visibility minimal.

A sudden blast threw them to the ground, the shell bursting only meters from T'Pol's head. Her arms, which she had used to shield her face from the impact, were now impaled with shrapnel in multiple places. Far below, the T'Karath Sanctuary smoldered with a characteristic green fire that they had only seen in surveillance videos.

The discharge pattern was too symmetrical, _too precise_ , to have been just any explosive commissioned by the Ministry of Security. If there had been anything left in her stomach at that point, she would have retched it up.

T'Pau was pulling her to her feet, shouting something about getting out of the blast zone should more bombs be dropped. She complied, numbly, not feeling the impact of her feet on the uneven ground.

-0-

To Malcolm's surprise, he encountered little resistance in his mission to infiltrate the inner data core. The corridors of the building were deserted, devoid of any operatives, and the dull roar of countless aircraft taking off continued to thunder overhead.

The order to blanket the sanctuary had been given shortly after he and Soval had parted ways. With the audio link to the bug planted in Stel's office, he had heard it all. Even as he made quick work of the firewall, disabling multiple layers of protocol in one foul swoop, the words of Minister Kuvak still echoed in his mind: _"You're presiding over a massacre."_

Accessing the pertinent files, his worst fears had been confirmed. Five hundred perfect facsimiles of the Bostanai had been produced and released with incredible speed. And if the dispersion records were correct, these were the very same that were being used at the present to decimate the Forge.

Even after several hours of deployments, aircraft were still taking off from the landing dock on the outskirts of the city. Clearly, V'Las had intended for there to be no survivors.

His head in his hands, Malcolm fought to repress a howl of anguish. If a weapon of his own design was going to be used to murder his wife and one of his closest friends, he would never forgive himself.

Nevertheless, he continued to read. A macabre thought emerged from the depths of his mind and took root; if all was lost, he should learn to dispose of himself in the most efficient way possible. His time undercover was nothing but a fruitless failure, and he knew that for once he could not bear to see the consequences.

 _Intelligence Disclosure, #195830C, May 8, 2154…_

His fingers froze over the console as he caught sight of a familiar name. Eyes never leaving the screen, he reached for his communicator in the folds of his robe.

This time, he didn't wait for Hoshi to speak first. "Set a course to Andoria, maximum warp," he demanded, his voice devoid of emotion.

On the other end, there's a rustling noise as Trip joins her at the communications station. "What did you find?"

Malcolm began to read the contents of the paragraph aloud, not even pausing to take a breath. "Andorians under Commander Shran appear to be working with Lieutenant Reed against all of Vulcan. Weapons will use Xindi technology and the Bostanai prototype. Preemptive strike recommended."

His friend swore loudly, so much so that Reed had to hold the device at arm's distance. It was unbelievable to him that the High Command would try and use Archer's friendship with Shran as leverage to further their agenda of violence. Then again, the ministry had gone to tremendous trouble to frame T'Pau and him, and would probably stop at nothing to manufacture a reason to breach the peace treaty they had signed only two years previously.

"He's going to start an interstellar war!" Trip exclaimed, forever thinking half a dozen steps ahead.

At the far side of the room, safely disguised behind tall rows of computer consoles, the door slid open.

"You know what you need to do," he said, once his colleague had calm down slightly. "So go after them. And whatever you do, don't come back for me. I'm a dead man."

"We'll be right back to sort this out with the king of bastards himself, Lieutenant, so don't you dare talk like that. Lay low and keep us informed. Tucker out."

The line went silent. In his mind's eye, Malcolm could see the bridge crew putting these new orders into effect. Travis was most likely calling out coordinates to the technicians in the back, who would confirm them next to their collection of star charts. To the left, his second was probably calling up the ranks of the beta and gamma shifts to get the armory in perfect running order, should they run into any armed conflict during their jaunt to Andoria. Truth be told, he wasn't optimistic.

Kneading his temples with his fingertips, he realized that he couldn't see any conceivable way that this could end up well for him. After countless scrapes and near death experiences, he had finally come across a situation that he could not overcome. The light at the end of the tunnel had all but extinguished, leaving the eternal footman to hold out his hand and snicker. Fate knew what would happen to Malcolm Reed, but the man in question wished he could say the same.

With his eyes closed, he did not see his assailant approach. It only took one clout with the butt of a plasma rifle to render him unconscious.

 _(to be continued)_


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: This is probably the darkest chapter I've written in both stories. I'm telling you all that the trigger warnings are mostly here, so don't say that I didn't warn you. Right now I've projected twelve chapters total, depending on the flow of the final few passages. I'm trying to get this all out before I leave for vacation in six days...goodness gracious!

Next time: More great moments in overreaction courtesy of Shran. T'Pau and Jon are left to put the events of the past few days in context.

 **Bostanai**

 **Chapter Nine**

"Is it logical for us to wait for that day?"

That question, rhetorical in the conventional sense, had been knocking around Minister Kuvak's head for quite some time after V'Las had said it. As the only member of the High Command vocal enough to question the administrator's orders, he bore quite the weight on his shoulders as he tried to decide whether his superior could be trusted.

At first he had legitimately believed that Lieutenant Reed was behind the bombing of the embassy, and by extension, also in league with the Syrrannites; but the idea that he would go behind his Captain's back and align himself with the Andorians was just beyond his limitations of belief. Humans were loyal to a fault, but also willing to double cross their own people were it to bring benefit to them, a complex quandary indeed.

He didn't concern himself in affairs of the Vulcan military, but when he saw the specifications on the weapons being used to bomb the Forge, he was tipped off to a greater conspiracy afoot. One man could not build five hundred prototypes of the same weapon alone, and would certainly not allow them to be used against the people that were trying to help. He doubted that the ministry had been able to reverse engineer the Bostanai from the shrapnel that was left behind; the destruction was absolute.

The fact that V'Las had been using unmanned drones to generate false warp signatures near Andorian territory was also suspicious. They certainly didn't need to draw the antennaed creatures out for them to respond to violence.

Kuvak wanted to trust the administrator, for he had earned his position by proving his capabilities as a leader. However, he knew that power had the tendency to corrupt those who had the most of it. He wanted to broach the subject to V'Las, perhaps attempt to catch him in a lie, but that was impossible at the moment.

They had to visit their prisoner.

To say that the minister had been surprised to see the human disguised as one of his people was an understatement. In fact, had he not seen Reed's face on every single news bulletin since the beginning of the week, he wouldn't have recognized him at all. The intruder had been shackled upright to the wall in an extremely barbaric method of detainment. As the two gentlemen approached, several of Stel's operatives stepped aside. From the bruising that covered the human's face, it was clear that they had been ordered to use force to interrogate him.

"He was caught hacking into the database of the ministry, your Excellency," an agent said, ducking out of the room to give them some privacy.

"I suppose we should have expected you here," V'Las said, coming to stand within a few inches of his prisoner. "How much did you discover from our database?"

The human swiftly inhaled and then spat out a glob of blood, which came dangerously close to landing on the administrator's shoe. He laughed, cold and mirthless, before muttering his desire for his interrogator to go to hell.

Reed's eyes were like marbles, dark shiners that gave depth to his lifeless grin. V'Las didn't take humor to this, grabbing the human by the hair and pulling upward. "Who helped you get past our security?"

"It wasn't hard," he replied, twisting away to make direct eye contact with Minister Kuvak. He repressed a shiver at the intensity of his gaze.

A kick was delivered to his abdomen. "Tell me where the surviving Syrrannites are!" V'Las roared, slamming the human's head into the paneling of the wall.

"I wish I could help you, Administrator, but I have no idea," Reed answered over the steady thrum of pain in his skull. "Perhaps you should go out to the Forge yourself and deal with them."

V'Las released him suddenly, but his tirade was far from over. "When we capture the remaining fugitives, I will bring your mate to this holding cell and personally execute her before your very eyes. I can promise you that her death will be slow and agonizing."

As soon as the administrator's back was turned, Kuvak was treated to the sight of the human's eyes widening in fear. He began to thrash against his restraints, shouting, "Let her live, and I swear I'll tell you anything you want to know! _Anything_!"

Why would Lieutenant Reed have come down to the surface and disguised himself as a Vulcan if he was guilty?

Kuvak's eyes darted between his superior and the prisoner then finally trained themselves on the ground. When he returned to the chambers of the High Command shortly, he would have to tell the others what he had witnessed. It was his duty as a follower of truth and Surak's will.

Turning to leave, he was taken aback by what was awaiting him at the door. V'Las stood at the threshold of the holding cell, phase pistol cocked and aimed at his colleague's chest. And for once in his professional career, he remained perfectly emotionless as he executed the next step of his plan.

"I'm afraid you have seen too much, my dear Minister," he said smoothly, and pulled the trigger.

Shortly thereafter, Malcolm's screams could be heard echoing throughout the building.

-0-

There was still forty-eight hours until they were to reach the capital, and T'Pol was already having second thoughts.

It was her opinion that they ought to return to _Enterprise_ and inform Starfleet of the High Command's treachery, but Archer clearly had other plans. He was single minded in his intent to bring the Kir'Shara to the seat of the planet's government, and was under the assumption that this would solve all of their problems. Perhaps the intrusive presence of Surak in his mind had caused him to look ahead so myopically. They had no power here in the Forge, no weapons, and no means to protect themselves. Were members of the ministry to track them, they would have no problem doing so.

T'Pau, of course, was fully on board with this course of action. She listened to the Captain drone on about Vulcan's plans to invade Andoria and believed him. It was infuriating that this woman who claimed to be enlightened would entertain the musings of a man that was growing more delusional by the hour.

She tried to isolate her unease about the situation and likened it to the fact that she did not know whether her husband or mother were in good health, or even _alive_ for that matter. T'Pol believed that her mother had the capability to escape with the others into the mountains, but Malcolm was far more vulnerable surrounded by members of the High Command.

With every step they neared to Shi'Kahr, her apprehension increased exponentially. Something was wrong. She could feel Malcolm's anguish as if it was her own.

As the trio stepped out into a clearing, they found themselves surrounded by men carrying _lirpas_ and barbaric spears. The leader stepped forward and demanded, "Give the Kir'Shara to us. This isn't your world, human!"

The first blow knocked the torch from Archer's hands, causing the rest of the group to erupt in a flurry of thrown punches and swinging weapons. T'Pol recognized the man who had spoken as Major Talok, a former colleague from her days at the Ministry of Security.

How could they have known that the insurgents were making their way towards the capital unless other survivors had been captured and interrogated? Ducking, she dodged the backswing of a _lirpa_ and rose to land a strong right hook to the nearest operative's face.

Violence was easy, but contextualizing the situation was difficult. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the veritable spokeswoman for pacifism abandoning her sensibilities and clobbering the major with a shovel that one of his troops had dropped. Archer was parrying blow after blow with the staff of the torch, which was still smoldering and made for a useful tool for nudging away the enemy.

"Surrender and you won't be harmed!" Talok bellowed, and she could tell that he didn't even believe that statement.

So that was the way it was going to be. Calling out his name, she sunk to her knees in the middle of the swirling mass of kicks and punches. His hands were on her in an instant, dragging her away with the help of another operative.

Jonathan called after her, but it was too late. T'Pau seized the opportunity to protect the one thing in this world she had left to treasure, grabbing the captain and flinging him with her superior Vulcan strength down a sloping tunnel. She didn't know where it led; however, at the moment, she was willing to take a gamble.

Her captain was going to think that she was out of her mind. And she was willing to accept that, as long as her companions were able to escape.

Clearly, one fugitive captured was better than none. After making up some nonsense about the other two heading towards Mount Seleya to have the Kir'Shara deciphered, T'Pol let herself be led through the endless catacombs of natural rock formations. Soon, they would be out of the Forge entire and on their way to the capital.

She was coming for her mate. At this point, she had no other choice.

-0-

Trip kept telling himself that if Jon were in his shoes he would have done the same thing. He had to, for it was the only thing still holding him to sanity.

They came across Shran's fleet in the shadow of a magnificent emission nebula, the tendrils of cerulean gases whipping up in tails and reaching at the hull. It took several hails before the _Kumari_ responded, emerging from the cloud along with several escort vessels.

It was some feat of negotiation to get the Andorian commander to leave his ship, even with the company of half a dozen armed guards. For the sake of hyping up the information he was to give, Trip kept it cryptic, being sure to mention the Vulcans and the bombing of the United Earth Embassy a few times each.

Like a moth to the flame, Shran harkened to the possibility of his archenemies being guilty of something so heinous. What he wasn't expecting was to hear that his own people were in danger.

"An invasion?" He exclaimed, his antennae bending forward with agitation. They had just played back the latest transmission from Malcolm for the benefit of the crowd, and clearly Shran wasn't taking it well.

Trip stepped back and nearly fell over the table in the conference room. He was beginning to think that he shouldn't have agreed to meet with him alone. "That's right. I wish we had more information, but we're working on it."

"We keep a very close eye on the Vulcan fleet; we'd know if they were planning to attack," Shran replied. "Surely your informants must have gotten back to your since you broke orbit."

He sighed, for he knew he was treading a fine line. They were lucky enough that Shran trusted them at least part of the time, and he didn't want to undo three years of keeping the peace. "In case you didn't recognize that voice, that was one of our very own, Lieutenant Malcolm Reed."

"Your security officer? Why is he on Vulcan?"

"He was framed for the destruction of the embassy, along with a pacifist faction that calls themselves the Syrrannites," Trip said, hesitating to go on. He wanted to keep his friend's personal life private, but it was also necessary to divulge this information if they could even hope of winning Shran's conviction. "He's married Commander T'Pol, humiliating several key members of the High Command in the process. Her mother also happens to be a member of the rebel cell."

Shran was surprised by this, and very nearly appalled. "Your chief of security chose a Vulcan for a mate?"

Now that he thought about it, it didn't make much sense to him either. But none of this was part of the point he was trying to get at, so Trip just waved the question away. "They've stolen a prototype of Reed's and used it to bomb the desert near where the Syrrannites are located. Archer and T'Pol are with them as we speak. We've got it on good authority that they plan on using the same weapon against you when they attack."

Moving past him, he brought up the slide that summarized the specifications of the Bostanai. Shran took all of this in with silence, his antennae slowly drooping. If the explosive were to be used on one of his ships, or even the Andorian home world, the destruction would be consummate. Much quietly than before, he asked, "When should we expect the invasion?"

That was something that Trip didn't know. "Soon."

"That's the best you can give me? Soon?" Shran bellowed, gesticulating wildly to the screen. "How do I know that you aren't in league with the High Command yourself? Perhaps the death of three of Starfleet's best officers would just be collateral damage."

The very accusation angered him. "I guess you don't know for sure. But ask yourself, why would we come an extra twenty light years just to kick ourselves in the ass? In case you've forgotten, Earth put its own neck on the block when we negotiated the treaty between you and Vulcan two years ago."

Shran considered that for a moment. "When the Imperial Guard retaliates," he began, for it wasn't a question of _if_ they would, "it will be a disaster for both our worlds."

"Exactly why we need to be prepared to intercept the High Command's task force when they get here," Trip retorted.

He wasn't too keen on mobilizing an entire fleet based on the word of a pinkskin, but the possibility of his entire world being destroyed was becoming more real by the second. And if that happened, he would only have himself to blame. "I'll need to consult with my superiors," Shran muttered, staring out the porthole to the clouds of the nebula.

"I suggest you do it fast," Trip suggested, already weary of these negotiations. Before he could say anything else to that end, the Andorian commander had exited the conference room, cadre of security personnel in tow.

-0-

The sensation of deck plating moving underneath her feet was unmistakable, as was the monotonous drone of the impulse engine. Some time after being captured, she had been blindfolded and thrown into a holding cell. Major Talok's voice was nowhere and everywhere, telling her that he had spared her life because she had once been an honorable officer in his chain of command. V'Las would want to speak to her personally. It was a pity, then, how in the space of a few years she had grown to entirely betray her people.

T'Pol attempted to meditate, to free her mind of intrusive thoughts, but found that it was impossible. The craft that was carrying them towards the capital was small, for she could hear the remaining soldiers talking quietly among themselves.

After a while, the cell was opened and someone approached. Faintly, the noises of an engaged bioscanner reached her ears.

Frantic footsteps retreated from her side, then there was a series of indecipherable shouts as the troops conferred. The next few seconds were an eternity, for she knew what they had discovered. It was impossible to miss.

Talok returned and ripped the blindfold from her eyes. His face was contorted with rage; he did not speak. It was unnecessary to contact Administrator V'Las concerning what he was about to do, for he knew that his superior would agree with his methods.

She didn't have an opportunity to prepare herself for the onslaught of punches. Her eyes were too busy acclimatizing to the bright lights overhead, but she could feel them, each landing where they were intended.

When the major released her, T'Pol fell to the ground. Her knees came to her chest involuntarily; nevertheless, she was not able to dodge the kicks to her chest and abdomen.

More and more operatives were spilling into the room and taking a hold of her limbs. The pain was all-consuming. In a state of panic, T'Pol found that all she could do was thrash out against her attackers. For the first time in more than a decade, she began to scream as shrilly as she could.

This was to her detriment. Two of the men took a hold of either side of her face, opening her mouth so a third could pour a bitter tasting liquid down her throat.

After their goal had been accomplished, each took a turn delivering a final blow to her stomach. With fluid running down her chin and eyes wild, T'Pol knew that she probably looked like a rabid _sehlat_. All she could do was continue to wail in pain, her mental barriers at last completely obliterated.

Their attack complete, she was thrown to the floor. Although the walls and floors swam before her eyes, trading places in her disorientation, she could distinctly hear Talok telling her that she was a disgrace, swearing oath after oath trying to accurately express his disgust.

The world was opaquely desolate, without hope or determination. Closing her eyes, T'Pol gratefully welcomed the temporary oblivion.

 _(to be continued)_


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Thank you for your continued support. I just keep changing my mind on the number of chapters to expect-right now we're moving towards thirteen. It's not a nice round number, but it'll do. I had a little bit of fun with Hoshi in this chapter...let me know what you think!

Next time: I've been dropping subtle hints as to what's ailing T'Pol, but the ball really gets rolling when RTP reunites in the next chapter. Soval comes through for Jon and T'Pau, while Troshi negotiates yet another dangerous situation.

 **Bostanai**

 **Chapter Ten**

Hoshi was having difficulty sleeping.

This was not unusual for her; insomnia had kept her up most nights before she had found a bedmate. Trip kept her centered, and she was often able to drift off with her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. But he wasn't with her, and wouldn't be for the foreseeable future.

He was going to work himself into an early grave. After his conversation with Shran, they had little to do but wait for the shrewd Imperial Guardsman to consult with his superiors. The threat of a conflict was imminent, so each department head had run the gauntlet with their staff, making sure that every aspect of the ship was in perfect running order. There hadn't been much for her to do, so Hoshi had spent the better part of the last hour slumped over in her station with a forlorn look on her face as she thought about the tragic things that _could_ happen.

It wasn't just the Andorians' lack of cooperation that frustrated her. Malcolm hadn't answered the communicator she knew he had with him, even though she had tried to hail it multiple times. There was a very distinct possibility that his cover had been blown, which could jeopardize the entire mission.

 _Enterprise_ 's chief of security had been in worse scrapes before. Multiple times, when tormented by his captor, Reed had refused to divulge any information. Hoshi knew this, and so she trusted him. Through the more horrendous aspects of life, she believed that people were still innately good on the inside. But perhaps she was naive for thinking that.

Closing her eyes, she tried to focus on the drone of the ship's background noise. It was a technique that Trip had taught her; that man would sleep atop his engines if given the opportunity. The sameness of it was comforting, something to cling to in her ever-changing world.

Her skin was beginning to tingle, from her nose to the tips of her toes. It was a sensation that few were accustomed to; those who were, were most definitely Starfleet officers. Finally realizing what was happening, Hoshi made a desperate grab for the bed post. What had formerly been her quarters began to fold in on itself in an infinite arrangement of squares.

There was that endless moment of oblivion where she could sense nothing. Perhaps it was only her imagination, but ever since her ordeal in the particle assembly matrix where she had completely disappeared, Hoshi was hypersensitive to transporters.

A pin prick of light appeared on the horizon, growing bigger by the second. It engulfed her person and deposited her on the other side of the matter stream, where three very gruff looking Andorians peered down at her with distaste.

One of them bent down and placed the tip of his plasma rifle to her chest, something she found entirely unnecessary. A majority of the blue-skinned aliens looked the same to her, but when a familiar face stepped into view, she immediately recognized him.

"Commander Shran," she questioned demurely, trying not to betray her unease. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

He smiled, a cold and dour gesture. "I understand that you are Commander Tucker's chosen mate, as well as the person that answers all incoming communications aboard the ship."

Behind him, Hoshi could see an upright plane contoured to the shape of a humanoid body. At level with the eyes were two electrodes, from which electricity jumped back and forth. This must be one of the specialized devices often used to interrogate Vulcan operatives and lower their threshold of pain. Apparently, it could also be appropriated for prisoners of other species.

So they were planning on torturing any additional information out of her. Well, that was tough luck, because she did not know anything that would be of interest to them. Hoshi nodded slowly, keeping a close eye on the two guards in her peripheral vision. She'd already let her captors get the best of her once, back during the Xindi conflict. She'd be damned if that would happen again.

"We can go about this the easy way, woman. Tell us what we want to know and we won't have to extract the information out of you," Shran said.

Releasing her muscles and stretching like a drowsy cat, Hoshi feigned disinterest. "I'd help you if I could, Commander, but everything that Tucker's told you has been true to my knowledge."

Shran eyed the Terran woman, taking in her complete disregard for his authority, and suddenly became enraged. "Strap her down," he ordered his assistants.

That's when she sprang into action. The two soldiers had approached her while she was still on the ground, leaving their shoulders and chests vulnerable. She took advantage of their low center of balance and landed a blow each to where she assumed their solar plexuses to be.

In addition to receiving cutting edge training in linguistics back home in Japan, Hoshi had mastered _aikido_ at an early age. Her quick work with her wits and a bowstaff had given her the upper hand in many fights in the past, and this one was no exception.

Grabbing a hold of one of the guard's arms, she twisted backwards and flipped him over her shoulder like a rag doll. His weapon went flying, colliding with the wall and sliding to the floor. The other sentinel foolishly attempted to attack Hoshi from behind, causing him to be thrown backwards onto his flailing companion.

Shocked at how fast his assistants had been incapacitated, Shran was dismayed to discover that he was next. It was no matter; how could a _woman_ , of considerably less strength and stature than he, defeat him in combat? All that was needed was one smooth, fatal blow to settle the score. _He should_ —

Hoshi struck first, placing one arm level with his shoulder and the other across his pectoral muscles. A second later he was sent flying backwards into the center of the room.

Perhaps he had made an error in his choice of prisoner.

-0-

The sun was now high in the sky over the Forge, and T'Pau and Jonathan were faced with the dilemma over their next move.

His primary desire, first and foremost, was to locate his science officer. T'Pol had gone through way too much by his side, had endured so much already, that he knew he couldn't leave her at the hands of the Ministry of Security. She could be tortured or killed.

T'Pau pointed out, much to his chagrin, that this had most likely already happened. The High Command was nothing but efficient, and they would have no choice but to do the same. Their original mission remained to deliver the Kir'Shara to the capital and set the new era of reform on Vulcan into high gear. Frankly, Jon was tired of listening to these grandiose plans and drivel about how the needs of the many outweighed the needs of the few. He already got enough of that bullshit from the philosopher in his head.

Not for the first time since this entire ordeal had begun, he found himself wishing that he could talk to Erika. She would know what to do; she always did. Even in the midst of training exercises out in the desert, she always kept her head about her. She had even brought him out of the worst depression of his life only a month earlier. If and when he returned to Enterprise, he made a mental note to contact her and thank her for all that she had done for him and more.

In the meantime, however, Archer had to admit that T'Pau was right. If they hurried, they might be able to reach Shi'Kahr before nightfall. He doubted that the High Command would kill T'Pol before V'Las had the chance to interrogate her; that pompous bastard would just have to have the last laugh.

As they walked, he took a moment to say a silent prayer for every one of his officers, wherever in the universe they happened to be. Jon had never been a religious man, and he sure as hell didn't know how one would pray to Surak. So he just still his thoughts and imagined a simpler time, one where they had been explorers of a noble path, and everything of worth had been perfect.

-0-

Back on the bridge, Trip was drumming his fingers on the armrest. They had yet to hear back from the Andorian fleet. It was a complex issue, but one that required immediate action. For all they knew, V'Las and his cruisers could be en route to the nebula at that very moment. The wait was agonizing, especially because he could do nothing about it in the meantime.

Only an hour ago, he had nearly had to order his girlfriend to get some rest. It was going to be a long night, and she wasn't going to help matters by brooding at her station and waiting for a transmission to come in. At least one of them needed to be well rested for combat, and he preferred that it be her.

Over at the science station, Novakovich had just received the results of the biomolecular scan of the ship's complement. Ever since his discovery of the intruder in the armory, he had become the unofficial master of the diagnostic test. He wore the badge with undue pride, examining the records down to the minute for inconsistencies. After all, it had certainly been to their benefit before.

"Commander, we're missing Ensign Sato's biosign. She's not in her quarters or anywhere else on the ship," he said nervously.

 _What the hell?_

He felt a surge of panic, but gave the order that he hoped would give them some answers. "Scan the Andorian ships."

A moment later came the report that he had expected. "She's aboard the _Kumari_."

Trip's fear was replaced with rage. Apparently Shran believed that kidnapping his girlfriend would cause him to break down and admit the real truth, as if what he'd been telling him all along had been a falsehood. Really, he was tiring of these ridiculous games. And he wasn't going to put up with them any longer. "Go to tactical alert!"

No sooner than the lights were dimmed and the klaxon blared, the crewman at the communications station reported that they were being hailed. Irately, Trip ordered for the caller to be put on screen.

He wouldn't have been so surprised than if he had woken up that morning with his head sewn to the deck plating. His significant other, clad in the athletic shorts and tank top that she normally wore to bed, held an Andorian phase rifle in front of her chest. Before her, two members of the Imperial Guard knelt, hands on the back of their heads as if they had just finished begging for mercy. At the forefront of this scene was none other than Shran, his face bruised up and a little bloody, but present nonetheless.

"The attack you're about to commit to won't be necessary, Commander. Your mate will be returned to your ship expediently. I'm also _pleased_ to tell you that we'll be prepared to dispatch the fleet to rendezvous with the Vulcans within the hour."

So his girl had literally beaten the most stubborn Andorian in the quadrant into submission. If the situation were not so dire, he would have laughed. He would have laughed hysterically, but it was not the correct time to do so. Nodding gravely, he replied, "Acknowledged. Stand by for transport."

-0-

Only an hour later, the word of Minister Kuvak's sudden disappearance had reached the chambers of the High Command. The assembled men didn't give it much thought—with the sudden appearance of a former charge, they had much bigger matters to deal with.

T'Pol's legs were weak; every step felt like a marathon. Her formerly starched white desert uniform was irreparably stained with the grime of the Forge. In addition, she was covered in splotches of her own blood from the waist down. The sticky green substance had begun to flow shortly after she had been attacked, and had not stopped until she was faint with blood loss. Her abdomen repeatedly spasmed as it started to reject the thing that had only recently began to grow within her. It was as if a portion of her had been lost over the course of the past few days, including a part that did not belong to her anymore.

The heavy doors leading into the main chamber come apart slowly, revealing half a dozen ministers crowded around a holographic imaging console. As she approached, she could see that they were delegating the movements of warships at the edge of their territory.

V'Las met her halfway into the room, coming much closer than was comfortable. Peering over her shoulder, he asked the nearest operative: "Is that _thing_ gone?"

"Yes, your Excellency. The medication is beginning the anticipated purge."

He nodded his approval and then turned back to her. T'Pol avoided eye contact with the administrator; at the moment, she found the idea supremely distasteful. When he addressed her by her old rank and welcomed her back to her former stomping grounds, she couldn't help but correct him.

"Treason remains one of the few crimes punishable by death. Imagine the scandal," V'Las says, "A member of the Ministry of Security going rogue and assisting her mother's dissident faction in the murder of her own people."

"I was under the impression that you'd framed my mate and T'Pau for the bombing of the embassy. Is this not the case?"

He's offended by her insolence and her mere presence in the chamber. Gesturing to the guard posted outside the door, he orders, "Take her to the holding cells. We will deal with her and the others after we decimate the Andorian fleet."

Her ears perked up at the possibility of seeing her husband or mother, while the other half of her mind worked frantically to connect the actions of the Andorians to the present situation. To her dismay, she came up empty.

With an armed guard at either side, T'Pol descended into the underground of the Ministry of Security for the final time.

 _(to be continued)_


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Yep, thirteen chapters is looking just about right. I'm having trouble sleeping in this infernal heat, so you get two chapters in a day. If you've recently lost a young member of the family, I suggest you get yourself a nice cup of tea and avert your eyes during RTP's reunion. I don't want to be responsible for anyone starting their day fighting a sudden bout of melancholia!

Next time: Two fleets and a spectator converge. Also, will proper revenge be enacted?

 **Bostanai**

 **Chapter Eleven**

The travelers arrived in Shi'Kahr with minutes to go until sundown. The skyscraping buildings, clustered together in shades of bronze and gold, glittered against the line of the horizon. By all accounts, it was a dazzling sight. Jon couldn't help but think that if he was there on more agreeable circumstances, he would have preferred to stay on the bluff overlooking the city for a while.

But seeing that they had a mission to accomplish, and negligible time to complete it in, that would be impractical.

On his request, T'Pau procured a comm beacon from an inattentive traveler. Turning the illegally obtained badge over in his hands, he tried desperately to remember the origin code of the person he wanted to reach.

The streets were oddly silent for this time of night. It seemed that the greater population could sense that something was afoot. Several times they had to hide behind awnings and waste bins to dodge uniformed members of the Vulcan military. Every time they continued on their path, Jon would catch a glimpse of a face peeking out between their window blinds with faintly confused expressions.

"A mandatory curfew," T'Pau mumbled, "clever if one wants to keep the public from meddling in the unsavory affairs of the government."

He nodded. "I'm still not sure how one artifact could shake up the power structure of an entire planet."

His companion shifted, drawing the satchel that held the Kir'Shara over her shoulder and clutching it to her chest. "V'Las cannot rule without the approval of the council. He's been in power long enough for one to know that his subordinates are easily swayed."

The last two digits of the comm code popped in Jonathan's mind, and he eagerly pressed the pertinent keys. Seconds later, the line was filled with static, then silence.

A response came in due time, no matter how hesitant it was. "Hello?"

"Ambassador," Jon cried breathlessly, "it's the Captain."

Another patrol craft passed low overhead, causing the duo to seek shelter in an open doorway. On the other end, the older man was clearly surprised. "Archer, a great deal has transpired since we last spoke. I would like to—"

"There's no time. Meet us at the back gates of the VHC headquarters in five minutes, and bring your access codes," Jon interrupted, while his cohort nodded her approval.

-0-

Shortly after their conversation with Shran, Hoshi had arrived in a flurry of smiles, something that her significant other found very endearing.

Trip was there to meet her at the transporter pad. She was harboring a bit of self-pride over the incident, and rightfully so. Who knew that employing the use of a black belt's skills was the only thing needed to get your way?

"Welcome back, Ensign," he greeted, bowing his head in mock reverence.

"I was only gone for twenty minutes, Trip," she chided, joining him on his walk to the bridge. Hoshi was still barefoot and in her bedclothes. As she spoke, she inspected her fingernails for traces of evidence from combat.

He'd be lying if he tried to say that he hadn't been just a little bit turned on by the entire ordeal. But they had a job to do. Filing away the incident in the back of his mind for the next time they were alone, he said: "Get dressed and head back to your station."

The two parted ways at a T junction in the corridor. "Yes sir," she replied eagerly, saluting over her shoulder as she disappeared around the corner.

No less than one hour later, _Enterprise_ and the _Kumari_ were in position. If the information that the science department had acquired was correct, they were in direct path of the Vulcan task force. The remaining ships of the Andorian fleet, every single one of them helmed by a commander of significantly different opinion than Shran, stayed farther back at a respectful distance.

Trip wasn't sure this was the best thing to do. Hell, he wasn't even sure if this was reasonable at all. Their proximity to the enemy fleet would be enough to convince V'Las that they were on the opposition's side and validate his fraudulent claims. It was a huge risk, one that might not pay off.

From his station, Travis reported, "I'm reading a massive sub-space distortion."

"It's the Vulcans. They'll be here in two hours," Hoshi cut in, her voice curiously unsteady.

His reaction was immediate. Trip had joined the fleet on the promise of adventure and, of course, plenty of time to tinker around with the engines. Combat wasn't one of the things he signed up for. Even after nearly four years of altercations, a lump of anxiety still developed in the back of his throat.

The Andorians had also sensed the impending arrival of their adversaries. Any additional cruisers that had been dispatched after Shran's decision wouldn't arrive in time.

For all intents and purposes, they were on their own.

-0-

Soval, punctual to no end, met his guests at the entryway. No one spoke as they neared each other, and as he entered his access code, Jon could see that the ambassador's hands were shaking.

Once they were in, the trio began to speak in hushed tones. Naturally, the first thing that Soval wanted to know what if they'd found the Kir'Shara.

"We have," T'Pau confirmed. For the first time, she appeared to shrink at being spoken to. Jon would never have imagined that she was the type of woman to get intimidated by a person in a position of power. "Shortly after we left the sanctuary, T'Pol was captured."

"She is here in the possession of the Ministry of Security; I have seen the footage. It may be pertinent for you to know, Captain, that Lieutenant Reed has also been imprisoned," he said.

Jon was surprised to hear that Malcolm's cover had already been blown. "What about my ship?"

"They broke orbit and set a course for Andoria," Soval answered as they reached the rear entrance to the building. At the confused looks he was dealt, he proceeded to inform them on what had transpired in the past few days.

Both were satisfied to know that they hadn't been imagining things; V'Las and his administration really were corrupt, and quite literally out for blood. "I assume that Phlox and the science team were able to prove our people were innocent."

The ambassador stopped in front of a locked cabinet, which he scrutinized carefully while plotting his next move. "Indeed. The biological evidence was fabricated."

T'Pau appeared relieved, but her expression was quickly replaced by one of shock when a military grade assault rifle was passed into her hands.

"If we are to infiltrate the High Command's chambers, we will need to defend ourselves," Soval extolled, although it was a feeble explanation. He suspected that the ambassador just wanted an excuse to blow his enemy of the face of the planet with a single shot.

God knew how long _this_ had been in the works.

Jon accepted a smaller particle weapon, which he tucked into his belt. "If it's not too much trouble for you, I'd like to free my officers first. Malcolm's probably got a score to settle."

"As do I," the older man replied darkly, and led the way towards the holding cells.

Behind them, T'Pau was still gazing at the gun in her hands. The sheer size of it was a little ludicrous for such a petite woman, but that was not the main issue she had with it. "Gentlemen, I cannot under good conscience shoulder this weapon."

"You're going to have to get over that really fast," Jon muttered thickly, beckoning her to follow him.

-0-

After his first night in custody, Malcolm began to lose track of the passage of day and night. It wasn't for lack of trying; from the shadows that played across the floor of his cell, he knew that there must be a window somewhere down the hall. He watched the shades morph and lengthen, and then disappear entirely, before finally losing his will to identify them. The pain from his injuries was so intense, so overpowering, that he lost sense of everything else. He had no visitors.

In the ambiguous place between awareness and unconsciousness, he thought he heard a series of heavy boot steps approaching. Reed immediately remembered V'Las's promise, and his psyche was instantly consumed by fear. What he saw when he opened his eyes, however, was not as threatening as he imagined.

"Captain," he gasped to the man who had come to rescue him. At his side, a familiar looking woman was making quick work of his restraints. "I tried to stop them, I swear I did. I—"

The iron rings that had been securing his limbs to the wall suddenly gave way, causing him to fall forward into his superior. Jon caught him and rubbed circles on the back of his robe. Even though the cosmetics were fading and his clothing was ripped, it was eerie how much his security officer still resembled a Vulcan.

"We know, Malcolm. Listen, we're just about to confront V'Las, and we thought you would have wanted to be there for it," he told him, a smile pulling at his lips despite the dire situation.

The Brit righted himself and irreverently ran his hands over the fabric of his disguise. "You're goddamn right I do."

Soval peered in from the hall, where he had been standing guard. "It's a pleasure to see that you are alive, Lieutenant."

He suppressed a bitter laugh at the sentiment. "You too, Ambassador. And you are the infamous T'Pau, I assume?"

The Syrrannite nodded, coming to stand abreast of the two men.

"Well, Miss T'Pau, it seems that we have something in common," Malcolm said. "Now, if you won't mind filling me in on what I've missed—"

"Are you sure you don't want to see your wife first?" Jonathan asked rhetorically, shouldering his weapon and moving towards the door.

In that moment, you could have knocked him over with a feather. "She's _alive_?"

Neither had a chance to respond, for Soval was already on the task. Somewhere farther down the passageway, he could be heard shouting, "Down here!"

For a man that had nearly been beaten to death only a day or so beforehand, Malcolm could sure move fast. He slowed when he saw the ambassador's downcast eyes and defeated expression. In the meantime, Jon used the butt of his weapon to disable the locking mechanism. The doors slide open, revealing the prisoner within.

T'Pol, typically flawlessly poised and groomed, was unrecognizable. The blood stains on her uniform were the first thing her husband noticed, even though she had pulled her legs up to her chest and curled up in the corner of the cell. She was shaking like a leaf, and her skin was assumed a sickly pallor.

At the sight of a silhouette of two Vulcans before her, she recoiled and let out an endless syllable of anguish. It was enough to raise the gooseflesh on her captain's arms. There was no end to his imagination; he couldn't fathom just how much his first officer had been tortured and abused since they parted ways.

Malcolm stepped into the room and said her name, before approaching her like one would a frightened animal. It took a few seconds, but once her eyes adjusted to the heightened levels of lights in the room, she launched herself at him.

The two embraced; Soval and Jonathan quickly averted their eyes. T'Pau, however, kept silent watch as the two reunited.

He kissed her on the lips, taking a long drag of her personal scent, the one that he had missed so much. Her face was covered in the grime of the Forge, but that didn't stop him from placing desperate kisses on her cheeks and brows. Malcolm's soul was in tumult. It hurt him to see his wife in such horrendous condition, but he was glad she was in one piece. Alone in his cell, with nothing but his torturous thoughts to keep him company, he had imagined all the ways that fate would choose to take her away from him.

"I thought—"

"It does not—"

" _Never_ again. I promise you that—"

"Don't," T'Pol was struggling to speak in a steady tone, so immense were her emotions. "We are alive."

Was that enough? Malcolm draped his robe over her shoulders in hopes of stopping her trembling. "The baby, my darling. How's the baby?"

Jon couldn't quell his curiosity any longer, and it seemed that Soval was in the same predicament.

It was quite a thing to be told before leaving on a mission one might not return from. In sickbay, on the day he had suited up for his work undercover, Malcolm had learned something that had the potential to change his life. He'd wanted to rejoice, to embrace his wife and celebrate their good fortune.

All the same, he should have known something like this was going to happen. Fate wouldn't have dealt him a decent hand without a catch. Taking in her injuries, the extensive bruising on her arms and upper chest, the thick blood staining her legs, he _knew_.

She didn't have to respond. Folding herself into his arms, T'Pol wept with her husband.

Back in the corridor, their three accomplices were trying to afford the grieving couple some privacy. "We have the element of surprise on our side. I will provide the diversion," Soval said quietly.

"Right. T'Pau, you'll activate the Kir'Shara, and I'll take down V'Las," Archer confirmed.

So engaged were they in actively avoiding paying attention that they didn't notice Malcolm approach. T'Pol stood by herself on shaky legs and came to join the group. Her eyes were now clear and her posture was upright as ever. Clearly, the two had come to some ultimate determination.

"That won't be necessary, Captain. I plan on killing the bastard myself," Reed asserted, taking the rifle from T'Pau's hands and clicking off the safety.

-0-

A flash of light heralded the arrival of the Vulcan fleet. Trip was in position, rearing to go, and prepared to issue the order that would change the future of all three worlds.

By this time, the cruisers would had scanned the Andorian ships and discovered that there were no traces of Xindi technology. Nevertheless, they were committed to the cause, and only one thing could be done to change that.

The Vulcans were powering up weapons, as were the Andorians. There were only seconds left to act. He'd buy time any way he could.

"Travis, put us between both fleets. If the Vulcans want to start a war, they're going to have to go through us first."

 _(to be continued)_


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Alright, my friends, this is the next to last chapter! Please forgive my English in the last few passages, for I know that it is not the best. Also, if you would, indulge me with an extra day or so to round up chapter thirteen. You know how finales go; if they're not perfect, they're not worth the wait!

Next time: Troshi convalesces, while RTP comes to an understanding. There's a bit of a shakeup in the power structure of the High Command. And finally, a mysterious transmission from someone in T'Pol's past...

 **Bostanai**

 **Chapter Twelve**

"Alright, let's not overreact," Archer said carefully, trying not to escalate the situation. Sure, he had thought about killing V'Las, but didn't want to complicate the situation any further with blood on his hands. The look in his security officer's eyes was feral; he feared that he was lost touch with reality. Slowly, he reached for the gun.

Malcolm jerked the weapon away from his reach. The nose wound up pointing towards the ambassador, who stumbled back into the wall. "How can you say that?" Malcolm began, his tone treacherous. "You know how much he's taken from me, from all of us. I'll never be able to face my family again. My wife is a pariah on her own world."

"Let us consider what would happen if you were to kill the administrator. It wouldn't matter if the execution was deserved, for you would still be charged with murder," T'Pau advised, although they could all see she was tense.

As much as he wanted to ignore her, Malcolm had to admit that the logic was sound. Clicking the safety back into position, he stowed the gun in his belt. "Only if he strikes first."

The group seemed to come to an agreement with that. In silence, they continued towards the High Command.

At some point, Soval decided that every member of their assemblage should be armed in case they should encounter resistance. He gestured to a storage closet as they passed it, where he was sure the Ministry would have stored their weapons.

T'Pol didn't immediately see what was inside because her captain and husband stood in the way. All she knew was that T'Pau was the one to open the door, and less than a second later a bloated mass of flesh was falling into her.

The Syrrannite gasped; for a moment it appeared as if she would faint. Jonathan was there to catch her, supporting the woman by the waist. She immediately moved to catch a glimpse of it, but Malcolm caught her by the elbow and shook his head.

Ambassador Soval used his weapon to flip the body supine. It was then the group could see that they had stumbled across the corpse of Minister Kuvak.

He had apparently suffered several plasma wounds to the chest before expiring. The sickening smell of decaying organic matter pervaded the immediate area. It was a gruesome discovery, but no one could move. They seemed to be frozen in place with shock.

"Are we counting _this_ as a strike?" Malcolm inquired, slowly removing the rifle from his waistband.

-0-

Travis had never taken this long to comply with a direct order. It was as if he was waiting on verbal approval from someone else, or for a written invitation. Finally, he engaged the navigational controls and eased _Enterprise_ into the middle of the action.

Their new position happened to be directly in the firing path of the _Kumari_ , and Shran took notice. Hoshi queued him up on the screen without a second thought.

"Commander, what do you think you're doing?"

Wasn't it obvious? "In case you haven't noticed, they outnumber us two to one," he replied acerbically. Trip was all about a fair fight, the reasonable settling of differences, but this wasn't it.

He waved off the Andorian's demands for him to get back in formation. By putting himself and one hundred other lives directly in the line of fire, he'd effectively spent all of his chips on one wager. Assuming that Malcolm was innocent, the Captain was making progress in the capital, _and_ V'Las would be willing to concede defeat, this would all work out well for them.

Hoshi opened up a channel to the High Command just in case he wanted to press him gamble harder. In the background, they could hear frenzied conversation among the other members of the council.

"Sorry to spoil the surprise, but the Andorians know what you're planning. You aren't going to win. I suggest you turn your ships around now," he said, surprised by his own forcefulness.

"This doesn't concern Starfleet. Leave the area immediately," V'Las ordered.

 _Like hell it didn't._ Trip was growing exasperated with the old man's self-righteous demands. "The Andorians helped us when Earth was under attack. We're just here to return the favor. If Enterprise is destroyed in this battle, Starfleet's going to know who was responsible."

That responsibility encompassed so much more than damages to a ship, to include dozens of lives and casualties. "Retreat or be fired upon!" V'Las cried, the voices in the background reaching a fever pitch. To the crewmen on the bridge, it sounded like a group of men trying simultaneously to talk their superior out of an attack.

Trip pulled no punches. Tramping over to communications station, he pressed the button that would end the transmission himself. "Stand by phase cannons. Don't fire until I give the order."

The ensign at Malcolm's station swallowed thickly and hit the necessary keys, trying to hide the fact that his hands were shaking. The crew of the armory had never gone through a combat without their fearless leader before. Holding the lives of peers in one's hands was a daunting task, and not one for the faint of heart.

Phaser fire zipped past the ship's hull, coming within meters of a breach. If there hadn't been an Andorian ship directly behind them, Trip would have thought it was on purpose. At the helm, Mayweather banked the ship steeply to the left.

Crossfire found them, landing a hit to the bridge. Tucker gripped the side of the captain's chair as the deck rolled underneath him and several consoles burst with sparks.

As usual, he didn't have to tell his navigator to begin evasive maneuvers. They came to the aid of a crippled Andorian ship whose reactor had been hit, causing several of the cruisers to turn and pursue them. The science station exploded with electricity; a young ensign in the back of the room began to scream in pain.

The craft took turns taking pot shots at _Enterprise_ 's critical systems without much break in between. Shran and his companions were busy engaged in a dreadlock with the other remaining ships, getting nowhere fast.

Over the various alarms and klaxons sounding, Trip heard that the helm and cannons were no longer responding. Gripping the sides of his chair, he prepared for the absolute worst.

-0-

When the group of five approached the inner chambers of the High Command, there was no one guarding the door. This was most fortunate, and only added to the effect of their surprise entrance.

"Don't move!" Malcolm shouted, brandishing his weapon. He had been the first one to burst through the barrier, taking out the closest person in his line of vision.

The Vulcan man, dressed in ministry fatigues, fell to the ground. He'd been stunned, and wouldn't awake for several minutes. Now all that remained was a crowd of stuffy old bureaucrats, who would no sooner risk their lives that make the move to contact security.

Soval entered next, looking uncharacteristically antagonistic. His eyes locked on those of V'Las, not dropping his gaze until the rest of the party had made their way into the room.

"Administrator, it is agreeable to see you again," T'Pau said smoothly, taking her sweet time to walk over to the downed officer and relieve him of his phase pistol. From the sway of her hips and her lengthened gait, Jon could tell that she was enjoying this.

The other members of the council backed away from the console in the center of the room. On the screen, ships weaved and dodged between each other. _Enterprise_ was under attack.

V'Las lifted a knobby finger to point at Malcolm and T'Pau. "These criminals are treacherous and deceiving, Captain. Whatever they've told you isn't the truth."

"On the contrary, your Excellency," T'Pol ground out, his formal title an afterthought. "They did not orchestrate the bombing of the embassy. You did."

Now crowded in the corner of the room, his subordinates were engaged in a series of violent double takes, whipping their necks about like excitable birds. "The attack was an excuse to round up the Syrrannites and any other enemies," Malcolm continued, knowing full well that he was one of those people. "You wanted revenge for all of the times they'd humiliated your administration. You wanted to make sure they'd never find _this_."

That was Jonathan's cue to remove the Kir'Shara from his knapsack and set it on the table in full view of everyone. Slowly, one of the council members approached it, looking veritably stunned. "Is that—"

"The Kir'Shara is a myth!" V'Las exploded. "How can you accuse me of fabricating evidence when you bring such an egregious facsimile into our presence?"

Trying hard to stop a smile from pulling at his cheeks, Jon began to press the necessary inscriptions. "We never accused you of such a thing, but now that you mention it…"

The device began to twirl in position, seemingly by its own accord. Great beams of green light sluiced upwards towards the ceiling before diverging and forming several concentric rings of prose. Lines of the archaic type set swirled before their eyes, revealing the eternal teachings of Surak. All those in attendance were amazed at the sight.

Malcolm seized the opportunity to surge forward and press the nose of his gun into V'Las's side. He had the utter gall to respond with indifference, slowly turning to face him.

"You aren't really going to kill me, are you, Lieutenant? You are a great many things, but you are not that type of man."

"Be quiet!" He cried, jabbing the nose of the rifle into his ribs. Then, tilting his head with curiosity: "You sent your operatives in to steal the Bostanai. Just how long have I been on your radar?"

The older man sighed, returning to the center of the room and sitting down. Only the heinously evil could remain so unmoved by their impending death. "Ever since the incident at P'Jem. Your tactical skills are admirable, but you lack the true qualities of a leader. Your naivety and inexperience will be your downfall, Mr. Reed. All things considered, you should be grateful that I have chosen you to carry the burden of the Syrrannites."

He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Struggling to get the words out, gasping with frustration now, Malcolm said, "You've ruined by reputation and very nearly my life. You shot Minister Kuvak to keep him silent. You led us on a wild goose chase for nothing but to massage your own ego. And you murdered my unborn child. All of this to breach a treaty and gain a few extra resources?"

Behind him, his companions were still as they observed this interaction. The room was eerily still, abounding with emotion. Suddenly, V'Las let out a bark of laughter, cold and mirthless. "Oh, Lieutenant. After everything you've been through to uncover this deception, you still fail to see the bigger picture."

Maybe he did, but that wasn't the administrator's problem. He stepped forward and aimed again, bringing his shot within point blank range. The other members of the council did not try and stop him. His finger flexed on the trigger.

"You're right, I don't," Malcolm admitted. "But there's one difference between you and I, and that's that I am not a murderer."

Gingerly, he bent forward and laid the weapon on the ground. Jonathan and Soval were there in an instant, forcefully holding V'Las to his chair. He did not struggle.

Far from the view of the men, T'Pau placed a hand on the shoulder of her companion, for all of a sudden she appeared to be faint with realization.

The official that had responded so swiftly to the Kir'Shara approached a communications panel on the wall and hailed his fleet; it seemed that he had a very important message to deliver.

-0-

"Where the hell is Shran?" Trip bellowed as he rode the waves of impacts on the hull. Now the helm was completely inoperable and the bridge was only illuminated by emergency lights. Smoke billowed in from any and all empty compartments, stinging his eyes and severely limiting the visibility of the room.

He knew that his question wouldn't be answered, as it was largely rhetorical. The Vulcans were probably keeping the flagship of the Imperial Guard busy.

"Hull breach on G deck. We're leaking atmosphere!" T'Pol's second exclaimed, her fingers flying over her console as she worked to remedy the problem.

So this was it. After countless missions and altercations, this was the one that would do Tucker in. He wanted to scream at the heavens and curse his misfortune, as ineffectual as that would be. But before he could issue another order or hear another casualty report, the bridge fell silent.

Hoshi's eyes were wide with an odd mixture of shock and relief. From the armory station, it was discovered that the Vulcan ships were withdrawing.

"We're being hailed by the High Command, sir. Audio only."

Was V'Las going to extract his troops before returning for the final, fatal strike? Were they expected to beg for their lives with the full knowledge that their other officers were probably being tortured as they spoke? When Trip nodded towards his significant other, fearful of what he'd find, the voice he heard was a welcome surprise.

"Trip, it's Jon. We're coming home."

 _(to be continued, one last time)_


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: And here we are at the end. I'm not going to lie, the possibility of a sequel doesn't look too good over the next month. I don't want to ruin a decent story with a plot line that's been stretched too far past its limits. I'm spending the next two weeks in Chicago on vacation, and then I'm moving into the dorms at university. However, if I were to scribble down a few things...Affliction, Divergence, and Bound look promising...

Over the next few weeks, I'll be dipping into my folder of unfinished oneshots. The fandom looks like it could use a dose of fun at the moment!

We should all thank BonesBird, the wonder beta; without her encouragement, this story would have never been possible. Thanks to all of reviewers and commenters for sticking around until I managed to write a chapter fic proper. Word of G-d always suggested a particular thing about T'Pol's heritage, so I ran with it. To close off this story, I suggest returning back to where it all started and rereading the legend of Bostanai. I can only hope I delivered a worthwhile interpretation. Be well!

 **Bostanai**

 **Chapter Thirteen**

Shortly after their arrival, _Enterprise_ had welcomed the return of three of their officers. They were all in one piece, more or less, but in no condition to command in the shape they were in.

Jon's first order of business was to order his friend to get some sleep. There was plenty of work still to do, and for that he needed his chief engineer to be sane and well-rested. For the sake of saving face, Trip had pretended to disapprove, loitering around the bridge for a few moments to pout. But secretly, he was glad to get his first bit of shut eye in over forty eight hours.

Sometime after midnight, Trip awoke to the stoic silence of his quarters. Before their mission, the negligible background noise of the engines would have comforted him. Now it just seemed empty.

He didn't even bother to slip on a pair of shoes, simply wandering into the corridor in his flannel pajama bottoms and tee shirt. Blinking drowsily, he allowed his feet to follow the memorized path to the location where he knew his girlfriend would be waiting.

The first thing he saw when entering the mess hall was Hoshi sitting at the far end of the room, nursing a flask of tea and a slice of Chef's famous pecan pie. He caught her attention, although his voice was slurred with sleepiness. "You didn't take the last piece, did you?"

She shook her head, and Trip was pleased to find a slice waiting for him in the display case. Pulling out a chair, he joined her at the table.

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes," she quipped. "How much sleep do you think you got?"

"Six hours, give or take," Trip replied. "It's not like I had much of a choice with Jon back aboard. I left Travis in charge."

Hoshi lifted a forkful of the dessert to her lips. "Are you sure that was smart?"

It was a half-hearted attempt at a joke, for both knew that the young ensign had come leaps and bounds in terms of confidence since joining the crew. Trip reached across the tabletop and captured her hand.

He had missed the brevity in their conversation, reminiscent of their time on shore leave in North Carolina. That was where he'd realized he was falling in love with his good friend. They'd been through so much together in just the space of the last month, and one fact didn't seem to change. Hoshi was always there for him, regardless of his moods. Without her intervention, he may have continued thinking that Malcolm wasn't innocent. As they said, hindsight was twenty-twenty. He didn't know he managed without the beguiling communications officer in his life before now.

Suddenly, Trip was very much awake. Grinning shyly, he asked: "Have I mentioned how hot it was that you beat up those three Andorian guards by yourself?"

With provocative deliberation, Hoshi cleaned her fork. She was satisfied to see that her significant other's eyes were trained on her mouth as she ate. "Maybe once or twice."

That was it. Standing abruptly, he chose to broach the one question that had been on his mind since he entered the mess hall. "Your place or mine?"

-0-

The lights were low as Malcolm entered his wife's quarters with a pillow and blanket under his arm.

No matter how much he wanted to stay and make sure that justice had been done in the case against V'Las, he knew that a visit to sickbay was very much in order. There was no denying that T'Pol was deathly ill, and would require considerable time to recover.

As Phlox read off the details of her injuries, not glossing over the methods by which the child she had been carrying was forcefully miscarried, he repeatedly dug his fingernails into his palms. The rage boiling in his gut was so palpable that after a while he felt a breakage of skin. He stood there, not really listening, but understanding.

To his knowledge, every copy of the Bostanai prototype had been successfully dismantled or destroyed. Before turning in for the night, he had even permanently deleted the blueprints from the armory's hard drive. In the morning, he would have to think long and hard about the future of weapon development in his department. That much was for sure.

T'Pol slept fitfully, her arms crossed tight over her chest as her subconscious swirled and churned with nightmares. He suspected that once he managed to find sleep he would suffer similarly. Arranging a makeshift pallet at the foot of her bed, he settled down and trained his eyes towards the ceiling.

After a while, he heard his wife shift in position. Opening his eyes, he was surprised to see her peering down from the edge of the bed.

He could tell that she wanted to assuage her concerns, to let him know that she didn't need a caretaker and most certainly didn't need someone watching over her as she slept. However, both knew that would be a lie. By now, their proximity to each other was as essential as air and water.

"The Doctor has ordered that I be confined to quarters for the next several days," she said, reaching down to take his hand. Even now, the bandaged shrapnel wounds that snaked their way up her arms were unsettling.

"I know," he answered softly, not bothering to tell her that he had also been handed down an extended period of leave. That much could remain unsaid.

The Vulcan woman watched as her husband traced the lines of her palm with deliberation. Finally, she broke the silence. "He would have had your eyes."

 _What was that?_

Releasing her suddenly, Malcolm closed his eyes and focused on the source of the overwhelming course of emotion he was feeling. To his surprise, tears did not come.

"Dethrone the past. Once this is done, you may start anew," he whispered to no one in particular. While T'Pol was being examined by Phlox's staff, he'd stolen a few precious moments to flip through the translated pages of the Kir'Shara. Apparently, the monks on Mount Seleya had jumped at the challenge and had already made considerable headway. Surely, if a philosopher during the time of great conflict could find peace in these words, he could as well.

This had considerable effect on his wife, who peeled back a corner of the comforter and beckoned for him to join her in bed. There was room for two.

Malcolm was careful not to disturb anywhere that was injured, but quickly settled down beside her. All he could do at this point was hope that they'd be able to steal a moment of tranquility in a world that was always trying to set them back. He hoped that the internal conflicts within the High Command would resolve themselves and be a thing of the past. He hoped, because that was all he really could do.

Now intertwined in body and spirit, the couple drifted off to sleep.

-0-

Although he was so tired that he felt like he'd been steamrolled and hung out to dry, the day was far over for Captain Archer.

For the moment, the conflict between Vulcan and Andoria had been averted. It seemed to him that there might be more complicated times on the horizon, but he tried not to dwell on that as he received T'Pau and Soval in the former headquarters of the High Command.

The first order of business had been to surrender the _katra_ to a wizened old priest, who accepted the responsibility with aplomb. His entry had been rather chaotic, but the exit of the thinker was relatively painless. Surely, even though they were separated by over a thousand years, Surak was pleased by what had transpired. For Jon, it was as if a giant weight had been lifted off of his shoulders.

"Word of the discovery has already spread," Soval informed him as soon as he was out of the trance.

T'Pau was next to offer her congratulations. Her position within the new governing body that had emerged remained undetermined, but Jonathan had already decided that he would be the first to offer up an endorsement. The pacifist had been a great ally towards him in the more recent days, even if they hadn't always seen eye to eye. "The people of Vulcan are in your debt, Captain. Peace and long life."

The _ta'al_ looked oddly misplaced on her fingers; Archer returned the gesture.

"You may be witnessing the birth of a new era," the ambassador said as they approached the door.

For the sake of both Earth and Vulcan, he prayed he was. It was time for humanity to stand on its own. And they were more than ready to take up the challenge.

-0-

Malcolm awoke to the sound of the monitor going off across the room. Even though he was averse to releasing his wife from his arms, the volume of the alarm accompanied with the bright green light that flashed at the corner of the screen was enough to tell him that the message was important.

The transmission was coming in from a remote outpost on the southern continent. There was no identification number. Seeing as this was some distance from the High Command and the communication had made its way through Hoshi with no problem, he decided that it was probably safe. Leaning back in T'Pol's desk chair, he pressed the keys that would answer the call.

T'Les greeted him from the other end, fully alert and to his surprise very much alive. "Greetings, Lieutenant Reed. I was hoping to reach my daughter."

Of course she was. Sleep's haze was clearing steeply, and he was realizing how foolish he had been to answer her correspondence. "I can wake her up if you wish, but—"

"No," the older woman cut in, "It will be easier this way."

Settling in, Malcolm prepared himself for what she had to say.

"I escaped with the rest of the Syrrannites shortly before the sanctuary collapsed. We scattered out of fear," T'Les said, and he didn't blame her. If it were him whose life had been threatened and his values prohibited him from defending himself, he would have taken transports to the far ends of the earth before confronting the problem. "I heard of the situation on the public media channel. Your communications officer was kind enough to release a debriefing of the incident in Shi'Kahr."

Good old Hoshi. Sometimes he resented her compassion. Distrust was beginning to seep in; with all of her infinite wisdom, why did T'Les not return and assist them?

"I don't plan on returning to the clan's ancestral home. As excerpts of the Kir'Shara are released, those of us who remain anticipate studying the text in isolation."

Malcolm realized that his resentment had been misguided. This woman had nearly sacrificed her life to ensure her daughter's happiness. That being said, she could have waited until the morning for a captive audience. "Why are you telling me this?"

She shifted in her seat. He could tell that whatever she was about to say would be difficult to hear.

"Everything I have done in my life up to now had been for T'Pol's benefit. Now, I have made a choice for myself. I trust you to care for her, because she won't be hearing from me for the foreseeable future," she asserted.

Had he not been targeted specifically by V'Las's administration, he probably wouldn't have understood her motives. Nodding slowly, he assured her: "You can trust me, T'Les."

"I am relieved to hear that, Malcolm," she admitted, not knowing what else to say.

Seeing that their conversation was reaching a natural end, he seized the opportunity to get one final question in. "Did you know that T'Pol was with child?"

The older woman appeared pained. Her expression betrayed her silent negotiation as she tried to decide whether lying to him would remedy the situation. The problem is that she couldn't see how it would. "I did."

So that was that. Reaching for the button that would end the transmission, he said, "Live long and prosper, T'Les."

"Live long and prosper, Malcolm."

Reading the chronometer mounted to the desk, he saw that it was shortly after 0600. A new day had dawned for the crew of the _Enterprise_ , and for that he was immensely glad.

Moments later, he returned to bed and slept for several more hours in the comforting presence of his woman he loved.

-0-

Had he not been the one suffering the consequences of his actions at the present, V'Las would have found the council's choice of detainment chambers ironic.

It was the very same one that had housed Lieutenant Reed after his cover had been blown, except his jailers hadn't bothered with the restraints. There was no one guarding him directly and no one else on the cell block, but the old man didn't mind. He was expecting a guest.

One moment he was not in the cell, and the next he was. Those who marched underneath the raptor's wing tended to keep their comings and goings as clandestine as possible. His visitor towered above him, his metallic uniform glittering in the low light. Several weapons had been stowed in his waistband, but V'Las did not feel afraid.

"You have failed," he growled. "Decades of work have been for nothing because of your incompetence. The human ship should have never been brought into this."

V'Las suspected that the warrior's motives for this were of a personal nature, so he smirked. That was a mistake, for in the next few seconds he was drawn up by his neck and thrown against the wall.

"You nearly killed my daughter!" The visitor roared. "The correct thing to do would be to fall at my feet and beg for forgiveness."

Pulling at the hands that were wrapped around his neck, he gasped, "Peace, Sanet. This is only a temporary delay. The reunification of our people will proceed as planned."

He was let go, his portly body falling to floor. Gratefully, the former administrator sucked in greedy lungfuls of air. Above him, the man whose face was split in a high V of cranial ridges appeared deep in thought.

"Perhaps it shall, V'Las, but not with you."

Before he could give it a second thought, he removed a plasma rifle from his belt and emptied a single pulse into the skull of the failed operative.

Stepping over the slumped corpse, he called for a transport out of the prison. It would be prudent for him to leave the planet as soon as possible. His position had been compromised.

Before beaming out, he removed the data module from the lining of the traitor's robe. The schematics for the weapon known as the Bostanai would be of great interest to the Praetor.

 **The End**


End file.
